

















































jri/,0 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. * 


* 

a-* 


>.'Tf 3£~ 

^U/ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


►SGI 








«r 



































































* 


























































































































J 


* ILVERTON RECTORY; 

of 

^ THE NON-CONFORMISTS 


IN 


THE 17TH CENTURY. 


FOUNDED ON FACT. 

, TYVu6 . S . ~Y~ . 

BY THE AUTHOR OF ALLAN CAMERON, OUR TILLAGE 
IN WAR TIME, ETC. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 



Ilverton Bectory. 

“Then came those days, never to he recalled without a 
blush, the days of servitude without loyalty, and sensual¬ 
ity without love, of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices, the 
paradise of cold hearts and narrow minds, the golden age 
of the coward, the bigot, and the slave.* * * * The gov¬ 
ernment had just ability enough to deceive, and just relig¬ 
ion enough to persecute. The principles of liberty were 
the scoff of every grinning courtier, and the anathema- 
maranatha of every fawning dean.” macatjley. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by the 
American Tract Society, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court 
of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I, 

The Rectory and its inmates. 5 

CHAPTER II. 

The storm gathering.—..-. 29 

CHAPTER III. 

Winston Park.. 46 

CHAPTER IV. 

The day of ejectment---.-. 75 

CHAPTER Y. 

The cottage among the hills.-. 91 

CHAPTER YI. 

An unexpected meeting.—.115 

CHAPTER YII. 

The visit to Bromley.140 

CHAPTER YHI. 

The silver lining of the cloud.163 



















% 

































* 




























































ILVERTON RECTORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 

There was not throughout England, in 
“ the olden time,’ 7 a pleasanter spot than 
the rectory of Ilverton, situated in one 
of the beautiful valleys through which 
the Severn winds its way, lingering in 
innumerable curves, as if loath to leave 
the scenery it enriches and adorns. The 
house was built on a gentle eminence, 
overlooking on one side the little vil¬ 
lage nestled in a bend of the stream, and 
surrounded with verdant meadows and 
cultivated fields, divided by thorn hedges; 
and on the other, the blue mountains of 



6 ILVERT0N RECTORY. 

Wales, visible in the distance, framing a 
picture charming as a poet’s dream of 
Arcadia. 

The house was a low Gothic cottage, 
with quaint gables and wide mullioned 
windows, over which climbing roses and 
flowering vines had been trained, and 
the trelliswork of the deep porch was 
covered with ivy and jasmine, filling the 
air with fragrance. In front of the build¬ 
ing, a velvet lawn, studded with magnifi¬ 
cent oaks and elms, sloped down to the 
road, from which it was separated by a 
broad ha-ha, or concealed bank. On 
one side of the house was the neatly kept 
garden and fruit orchard; and on the 
other, a grove of evergreens surrounded 
a miniature pond, in which were gold and 
silver fish, the special pets of the younger 
members of the household. 

The parlor or family room of the rec¬ 
tory was a large and pleasant apartment, 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 7 

with windows on two sides, opening upon 
a balcony, and presenting in its general 
aspect a scene of simple elegance and 
homelike comfort, which bespoke at once 
the character of its inhabitants. Nothing 
could be more unpretending than its fur¬ 
niture ; and yet an air of refinement and 
taste pervaded the room, no less from 
the extreme nicety and order with which 
it was kept, than from the drawings, 
books, and work scattered about it. 

A harpsichord, evidently of great age, 
but in perfect preservation, adorned one 
side of the room, and a cumbrous sofa, 
covered with rich but faded damask, 
occupied the other. Bouquets of fresh 
flowers, artistically arranged, were placed 
in antique glasses on the table and beau- 
fet, and various kinds of toys and tiny 
articles of apparel gave to the whole a 
charm which childhood alone can impart. 

In this room, at the close of a sum- 


8 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

mer’s clay, were seated two individuals, 
enjoying the coolness of the evening 
breeze as it stole through the open case¬ 
ment, laden with a thousand sweets from 
the neighboring orchard and garden. 
The elder of the two was a woman in 
the prime of life, with a noble and digni¬ 
fied aspect, and an expression of deter¬ 
mination on her brow which might have 
passed for sternness, had it not been con¬ 
tradicted by the sweetness of the mouth, 
round which the loves and graces alone 
seemed fitted to linger. A few silver 
threads mingled with the brown tresses, 
carefully banded back from the broad, 
open forehead • but time had as yet stolen 
no charm which was not more than re¬ 
placed by the stately serenity and mat¬ 
ronly grace of her manners. 

Her eyes were bent with fond and 
anxious scrutiny on the fair young girl 
seated at her feet, who was one to call 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 9 

forth all a mother’s love, mingled it 
might be with a mother’s apprehension. 
She was just eighteen, that lovely age 
when the thoughtless joyousness of the 
child gives place to the deeper but more 
troubled happiness of the woman; when 
the sweet buds of life’s spring are burst¬ 
ing into flower, and we inhale their fra¬ 
grance with delight, while we tremble at 
the thought that the frosts of misfortune 
and sorrow may so soon wither them. 
The maiden was 

“Not learned, save in gracious household ways; 
Not perfect—nay, but full of tender wants; 

No angel, but a dearer being, dipped 
In angel instincts, breathing paradise, 

Who looked all native to her place, and yet 
On tiptoe seemed to touch a higher sphere, 

Too high to tread; and other minds perforce 
Swayed to her from their orbits as she moved, 
And girdled her with music.” 

Though not perhaps critically beautiful, 
there was a nameless charm in the face 
of Annie Leigh, which at once attracted 


10 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

the eye and interested the heart—some¬ 
thing dearer than beauty in the expres¬ 
sion of purity, innocence, and gentleness 
which pervaded her features, and looked 
through her eyes of violet blue, those 
deep, unfathomable eyes, “with down¬ 
falling eyelids full of dreams and gentle 
fancies,” which were now fixed earnestly 
upon her mother, as with hands folded 
across her knee she waited the continu¬ 
ance of a conversation, evidently of deep 
interest to both. 

“Annie, my chiid,” at length said the 
matron, passing her hand fondly over the 
ringlets of sunny brown which shaded 
the girl’s drooping face, “I have read 
your heart like an open book, from your 
infancy to the present moment. Is there 
aught in it now that a mother may not 
see ? Do you love this youth, this Mas¬ 
ter Clarence Brent ?” 

“Dearest mother!” was the only spo- 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 11 

ken reply; but those eloquent eyes, up¬ 
raised for an instant, and that cheek 
glowing like the heart of a blush-rose, 
were sufficiently expressive; and a deep 
sigh from the mother told that she was 
answered. 

“And does he love you? I would 
fain hope that the affections of my child 
have not been given unsought.” 

“He has told me so, and I could not 
help believing him,” murmured the girl 
almost inaudibly. 

“It grieves me to give you pain, my 
darling, but have you ever reflected on 
the probable issue of such an attachment? 
Have you remembered the great dispar¬ 
ity of rank between you, and the im¬ 
probability that Sir Richard Brent, so 
proud and wealthy, will consent to the 
union of his only son, and the heir of his 
immense possessions, with the portion¬ 
less daughter of a country clergyman ?” 


12 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

“I have said so to Clarence, dear 
mother, many times; but he answered 
that I was foolishly humble—that a 
learned and eloquent minister like my 
father was second to no man in the 
realm, with many other foolish things 
which I cannot repeat to youand the 
blushing girl looked up into her mother’s 
face with an arch smile as she inquired, 

“But is there in truth such great dis¬ 
parity between us ? I am sure my father 
is inferior to no one ; and I have heard 
that my grandfather Bradshaw was the 
son of a baronet.” 

“And yet he gave his daughter to a 
poor clergyman, you would say, my An¬ 
nie. It was even so; but my father was 
a friend of the noble Cromwell, and had 
learned the vanity of earthly distinctions 
in a school very different from that in 
which Sir Bichard has been trained. 
But where is this youth who seeks to 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 13 

win our household treasure ? Why comes 
he not as formerly to the rectory ?” 

“Know you not, dear mother, that he 
has gone from England, since leaving the 
university, to travel over the countries 
of Europe in company with his tutor? 
He will be back in little more than a 
year, and then he says—■” A deep blush 
finished the sentence, and the mother 
smiled as she replied, 

“Well, love, it is the privilege of 
youth to believe all things, and too often 
disappointment, like a shadow, follows 
the steps of expectation. But I hear the 
voice of your father. To him we will 
refer the matter, and in this, as in all 
things "else, be guided by his superior 
wisdom.” 

Annie rose hastily and advanced to 
meet her father, who with unwonted 
gravity merely bent to imprint a kiss on 
her fair forehead, and then, with an afifec- 


14 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

tionate salutation to his wife, seated him¬ 
self abstractedly by her side. 

Mr. Leigh was a man of commanding 
presence, rather past middle age, though 
the furrows on his pale cheek were traced 
there less by the hand of time than the 
studious and thoughtful life he had led, 
together with his habitual concern for 
the spiritual interests of those committed 
to his charge. The raven locks which 
encircled his brow were wholly unfrosted 
by time, and the whole contour of his 
head and face bespoke a character of 
elevated tone, expansive benevolence, 
and unconquerable energy. For nearly 
twenty years he had held the living of 
Ilverton, and through his faithful labors 
the moral wilderness had been made to 
blossom as the rose; while by his flock, 
to whom he was a father as well as pas¬ 
tor, he was revered almost as a superior 
being. 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 15 

No wonder, with these high qualities 
of heart and mind, united with endearing 
gentleness of character, the good minis¬ 
ter was an object of ardent affection to 
every member of his happy household, 
from the devoted wife to the little Rose, 

“Who climbed his knee the envied kiss to share.” 

No wonder that his appearance was hail¬ 
ed with delight by the mother and daugh¬ 
ter, whose veneration for his intellectual 
greatness was tempered by implicit con¬ 
fidence in his goodness and affection. 

A glad smile lighted up the face of the 
wife as she welcomed him to her side, 
saying, 

“ Dearest, you have been long in com¬ 
ing to-night. Surely it is not your wont 
to stay away from us at this sweet hour, 
when every thing invites to relaxation 
and repose. I shall be jealous of the 
books and studies which engross so much 
of the time I have been accustomed to 


16 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

call my own. But you are thoughtful 
and sad. Has aught occurred to annoy 
or distress you ?” she anxiously inquired 
as she saw that no answering smile on 
that beloved countenance met hers. 

Ere he could reply, a beautiful child 
of four or five summers came dancing in, 
her golden hair flying in the breeze, and 
her complexion, fair as alabaster, glow¬ 
ing with the roseate hues of health and 

joy. 

“See, mamma,” she exclaimed, open¬ 
ing the little hands which had been 
closely clasped—“see this darling little 
thin bird. It was flying about on the 
flowers, and it was so pretty I brought it 
to you.” 

Alas, the frail butterfly was crushed 
in the grasp of the child, and of all its 
brilliant colors nothing remained but a 
little fine and almost impalpable dust. 

“Where is it?” inquired the wonder- 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 17 

ing child—“where is my little bird, 
mamma ?” 

“It was a butterfly, my love, not a 
bird, and my Rose in bringing it to her 
mother has killed it by holding it too 
tightly.” 

“Killed it! killed my poor little bird! 
Oh, sister, I’m so sorry;” and hiding her 
face in her sister’s lap, she burst into a 
passion of tears. 

Absorbed as Mr. Leigh had been in 
his own sad thoughts, he could not look 
unmoved on the sorrows of tfie household 
pet. 

“Come hither, my child;” and as the 
little Rose ran to him and raised her 
tear-stained face to his, he said tenderly, 

“You have only done, my darling, 
what we are all doing constantly, seizing 
pleasure so eagerly that it must needs 
perish in the using. Your poor butter¬ 
fly would have lived but a few days at 
2 


Ilverton Rectory. 


18 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

farthest; but our heavenly Father gave 
it life, and we have no right to take away 
the gift.” 

“Can’t yon mend it, papa? Please 
put it together again for Rose;” and the 
child held up her little hand with the 
remains of the insect still clinging to it. 

Kissing fondly the soft white hand, the 
father replied, “That is impossible, my 
child; but God has made many more, 
and they are flying in the sunshine, where 
you can see and admire their bright 
colors; but always remember, my love, 
that the most beautiful things are often 
the frailest, and most liable to be injured 
by hasty or rough usage.” 

Old nurse Margery now appeared, and 
leading away the child, Mrs. Leigh said 
to her husband, while a nameless fear 
chilled her heart, 

“So long as a merciful Father spares 
our domestic treasures, we will not com- 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 19 

plain, even if trials should be sent upon 
us by the same gracious hand.” 

There was no reply for a few moments, 
while the strong man was evidently 
struggling to repress his emotions; and 
when at length he spoke, his tone was 
calm though tremulous, and the deep 
solemnity of his manner sent a sharp 
thrill of apprehension to the hearts of his 
companions. 

“God is my witness, beloved ones,” 
he said, “that if hitherto I have kept the 
troubles of my own soul from you, it was 
not from a desire to avoid the cross, but 
only that you might be spared the pangs 
of suspense which I have borne. Now, 
since the path of duty hath been made 
plain to me, I may no longer shun to de¬ 
clare to you tidings which must be pain¬ 
ful to the flesh, albeit the spirit may be 
strengthened from above to bear it. 

“Know then that the Act of Uni- 


20 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

formity, passed by the Parliament, and 
sanctioned by our sovereign king Charles 
the Second, hath been sent throughout 
the land, enjoining upon all ministers of 
the gospel their unfeigned consent to the 
requisitions of the late convocation, on 
pain of ejectment from their livings and 
suspension from the ministry. The exe¬ 
cution of this act is fixed on St. Barthol¬ 
omew’s day, the 24th of August next, 
(1662.) I have received a copy of the 
act, and unless prepared by unreserved 
conformity to avert the blow, the setting 
sun of that day must see us homeless, pen¬ 
niless wanderers on the face of the earth— 
you, my true-hearted wife, this dear and 
dutiful child, and the darling cherub who 
knows so little of care or sorrow.” 

“Is there no hope, dear father, no 
middle course by which, with a clear 
conscience, you may avoid these terrible 
consequences ?” 


THE EECTOEY AND ITS INMATES. 21 

“Oh, my child, think you that with 
such a doom before me I have not striv¬ 
en to avert the blow ? Night and day, 
on my knees before God, with fasting 
and prayer, I have revolved the subject, 
and sought to reconcile my interest and 
my duty, but it may not be. I cannot 
do evil that good may come, nor commit 
this great sin against my God and the 
dictates of my own conscience. I have 
therefore surrendered myself, my minis¬ 
try, my people, my place, my wife and 
children, with whatsoever else is con¬ 
cerned, into His hands from whom I 
received them, and in silence await his 
holy will concerning me. 

“And now, dear and faithful wife, 
companion of my joys and sorrows, tell 
me, have I judged rightly in this mat¬ 
ter?” 

While her husband was speaking, Mrs. 
Leigh sat with features pale and rigid as 


22 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

marble, and slowly dilating eyes fixed 
immovably upon him, as though the tid¬ 
ings were indeed turning her to stone. 
But at the sound of that loving voice ap¬ 
pealing to her heart, at the touch of that 
warm hand in which her own had been 
clasped at the altar, the chilled pulses 
resumed their play, the tension of the 
nerves gradually gave way, and her 
excited feelings found vent in salutary 
tears. When she spoke, though her 
words came slowly and gaspingly, her 
heart was strong with a courage not of 
this world, and the light of faith was in 
her eye as she answered, 

“ God forbid, my beloved husband, 
that you should hesitate or refuse to fol¬ 
low the dictates of conscience, at what¬ 
ever sacrifice. He who sent the ravens 
to feed Elijah will doubtless take thought 
for us.” 

“Worthy daughter of the noble Brad- 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 23 

shaw,” exclaimed the agitated pastor, 
‘‘how thy high-hearted courage shames 
my hesitation and unbelief! Yes, I will 
no longer doubt that He who hath re¬ 
quired the sacrifice will strengthen us in 
the hour of trial. But alas,” he added, 
rising hastily and pacing the room with 
disordered steps, “to flesh and blood it 
is a bitter cup which God giveth us to 
drink. To bid farewell to this dear and 
pleasant home—the home to which I 
brought thee, my Lucy, a young and 
lovely bride—the birthplace of our chil¬ 
dren, endeared to us by a thousand sweet 
memories and hallowed associations—to 
exchange all this for abject poverty; to 
be driven away from my precious flock ; 
to leave untended this vine of the Lord’s 
planting, now so fair and flourishing— 
this is a trial which pierces almost to the 
dividing asunder of flesh and spirit.” 

“My father, shall we receive good at 


24 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

the hand of the Lord, and shall we not 
receive evil?” said a soft voice at his 
side; and as he turned at the sound, An¬ 
nie linked her arm in that of her father, 
and looked up into his troubled face with 
an expression of pity and tenderness, such 
as an angel might wear in contemplating 
the sufferings of fallen humanity. “ I 
am a child, and know less than nothing 
in comparison with you, dear father, but 
you have always taught me that the suf¬ 
ferings of this present time are not worthy 
to be compared with the glory to be re¬ 
vealed in us, if we remain faithful unto 
the end.” 

“Bless thee,’my darling; God speaks 
to me through those young lips, and I 
will thank him and take courage. But 
how is this, my daughter ? thou comfort- 
est thy father, while the deadly pallor 
of thine own cheek betrays the anguish 
thou wouldst fain conceal.” 


THE RECTORY AND ITS INMATES. 25 

Ah, little did the good man dream of 
the extent of that more than mortal an¬ 
guish. The blow that had almost crushed 
the life out of her young heart had fallen 
s.o suddenly, so unexpectedly; for it was 
only a few days before, that her lover, 
who was leaving for Europe, assured her 
that as soon as he returned he should 
publicly urge his suit, and entreat her 
parents to bestow upon him the treasure 
he coveted so fondly. Now they were 
separated for ever. She felt and knew 
it; for if a doubt existed of Sir Richard 
Brent’s willingness to receive her as the 
bride of his son while her father was 
a beneficed clergyman of the English 
church, what hope could there be for her 
now, as the daughter of an ejected, beg¬ 
gared non-conformist? Not for worlds 
would she have her father do violence 
to his own convictions, or betray the sa¬ 
cred cause of liberty, civil and religious, 


26 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

which from her cradle she had been 
taught to revere; but the conflict of 
feeling had exhausted her energies, and 
well might her father remark the death¬ 
like paleness of her cheek, for while he 
was yet speaking, she sank like a snow- 
wreath from his encircling arm, and was 
carried to her own room in a state of in¬ 
sensibility. 

“Leave her to me,” said her mother 
gently; “her strength has been sorely 
tried, and though the spirit is willing, the 
flesh is weak. Fear not for us,” she added 
with a faint attempt to smile, as his look 
of anxious love smote upon her heart: 
“with health, unbroken affection, and con¬ 
fidence in God, what more can we desire?” 

When on coming to herself Annie 
found no one with her but her mother, 
she threw her arms round the neck of 
that dear comforter, and wept long and 
bitterly. At length, raising her head 


THE RECT0E1 AND ITS INMATES. 21 

from the resting-place of her infancy, 
she said more calmly, 

“ Pardon, dearest mother, this selfish 
indulgence of grief: I have so loved 
Clarence, and I know how keenly he 
will feel the blow, for in spite of my un¬ 
worthiness, he loves me well and dearly. 
But my short dream of bliss is over, and 
henceforth it shall be to me but as a vis¬ 
ion of the night, from which on awaking 
we turn away to the sterner duties and 
realities of the day. There is enough to 
live for while my parents and sister are 
left to me, and no vain repinings shall 
add to the weight of the burden imposed 
on you. One thing only I entreat, by 
all the love you have ever shown me— 
that this unhappy attachment may not 
be revealed to my father, lest in the 
knowledge of his child’s unhappiness 
he should have sorrow upon sorrow. 
Strength will be given me to conquer 


28 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

an earthly love, and to fix my whole 
heart where it may cling for ever with¬ 
out fear of separation. 77 

From that day to the dreaded period 
of ejectment, the young Annie moved 
among her friends like an embodied 
spirit of love and hope. Deeply she 
felt the value of all she was about to 
lose, but like her parents she had count¬ 
ed the cost; and though the pale and 
tearful faces, the subdued voices and 
hushed tread of the little group spoke 
the presence of a great sorrow, there 
was no clamorous grief, no selfish lam¬ 
entation. Clouds and darkness were 
round about them; but even then, to 
the eye of faith, the bow of promise 
shone through the gloom, a sure pledge 
that the Sun of righteousness was shin¬ 
ing behind the cloud, and in his own 
time would pour sunshine and gladness 
round their onward way. 


THE STORM GATHERING. 


29 


CHAPTER II. 

THE STORM GATHERING. 

Charles Stuart, the second of that 
name, had recently been brought back 
from exile and poverty, and placed upon 
the throne from which his father was ig- 
nominiously hurled to meet his fate upon 
a scaffold. Trained from his early youth 
in the school of adversity, it was hoped 
and believed by the English people, that 
the young king would avoid the errors 
which had destroyed his father, and unit¬ 
ing in himself the different factions which 
divided the commonwealth, would gov¬ 
ern the nation with a just and impartial 
sway. 

But the doomed house of Stuart seem 
ever to have been incapable of learning 
a wise lesson, or unlearning a foolish and 


30 ILVERTON KECTOEY. 

dangerous one. In the midst of peril and 
suffering, Charles Second had seemed to 
be a kind, generous, and chivalric prince; 
but when once established at Whitehall, 
he was seen to be a soulless profligate, 
a mere gilded puppet, influenced by any 
one who would take the trouble to min¬ 
ister to his sensuality, or indulge his self¬ 
ish indolence. Unlike his brother James, 
he was naturally averse to severity in 
matters pertaining to politics or religion, 
and yet persecution raged in his reign to 
an extent absolutely appalling. Of that 
time it may be truly said, 

“The good man’s share 
In life was gall and bitterness of soul, 

-while luxury- 

in palaces lay straining her low thought 
To form unreal wants, and heaven-born truth 
And moderation fair wore the red marks 
Of superstition’s scourge.” 

Charles was secretly a Boman-cath- 
olic, though he dared not avow it, and 



THE STORM GATHERING. 31 

hence he would gladly have tolerated 
the Presbyterians and Independents, 
whom he despised, in order to extend 
the same boon to the members of the 
church of Rome. But the Prelatist and 
Romish party could not forgive those 
who had humbled them during the civil 
war and under the Commonwealth, and 
when their turn of ascendency came, 
were resolved to put down what they • 
termed schism by the strong hand of 
power. They were not long in bringing 
the selfish and indolent king to sanction 
their purpose. 

The vices which characterized the 
period of the Restoration were precisely 
those least tolerated by the Puritans. 
They loathed the painted, furbelowed 
licentiousness that disgraced the court 
and its anointed head. They openly 
condemned the light literature and dra¬ 
matic entertainments of the age, stained 


32 ILVEETON EEOTOEY. 

as botli were with unblushing immorality 
and the grossest profligacy. 

But let it not be thought that the Pu¬ 
ritans were destitute of culture and re¬ 
finement, because they were so occupied 
with the great realities of time and eter¬ 
nity, that they had little leisure for artis¬ 
tic culture and the graces of oratory. The 
sect that could boast among its members 
• a Harrington, a Marvel, a Wallace, a 
Withers, who says of his muse, 

“ By the murmur of a spring, 

By the least bough’s rustleing, 

By a daisy, whose leaves spread, 

Shut when Titan goes to bed, 

Or a shady bush or tree, 

She could more infuse in me 
Than all nature’s beauties can 
In some other, wiser man;” 

and above all, a Milton, the splendor of 
whose genius places him above all rivalry 
but that of Shakspeare: such a sect need 
not be careful to vindicate its name from 
the reproach of barbarism. 


THE STORM GATHERING. 33 

If the Puritans cared little for the 
mythical heroes of the Greek and Ro¬ 
man poets, they were familiar with the 
sublime topics and gorgeous imagery of 
Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, and felt 
that in resisting tyrants and defending 
civil and religious liberty, they were act¬ 
ing a grander epic than the world had 
ever yet seen. If they shunned and 
hated the drama, disfigured as it was 
with moral leprosy, they knew that they 
were themselves a spectacle to angels 
and men, surrounded by an innumerable 
company of witnesses, while Jehovah 
himself waited to award the prize. 

Such men could not basely truckle to 
unholy power, or wear a mask to avoid 
the temporal consequences of their un¬ 
popular doctrines; and thus exposed, 
they were soon made to feel that by 
the death of their great protector Crom¬ 
well, they had lost all that stood between 
3 


Dverton Rectory. 


34 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

them and the utmost wrath of their ene¬ 
mies. 

A convocation or assembly of the cler¬ 
gy was called, and by this body various 
revisions were made and laws enacted, 
which seemed only designed to exasper¬ 
ate the Puritans. The Dissenters as a 
body disliked the saints’ days; the re¬ 
visions added to the number of those 
days. They would not use the Apocry¬ 
phal lessons; the revisions added to those 
already in use the story of Bel and the 
Dragon. Having finished their work, 
the houses of convocation adjourned ; 
but the Parliament met, and sanctioned 
what they had done by passing the fa¬ 
mous Act of Uniformity. 

By this law, all clergymen were requir¬ 
ed to signify publicly their cordial and 
unfeigned assent and consent to all the 
requisitions of that act; to repudiate the 
solemn league and covenant—an agree- 


THE STORM GATHERING. 35 

ment which had been entered into sev¬ 
eral years before by the Scotch Presby¬ 
terians and the English Independents or 
Dissenters, for the preservation of relig¬ 
ious and civil liberty in both kingdoms— 
and to acknowledge no obligation to the 
same; and further, to declare that it 
was unlawful, under any circumstances 
or pretexts whatever, to take up arms 
against the king. 

Thus they were compelled to disavow 
and reject most solemnly all the great 
principles for which they and their fa¬ 
thers had fought and bled under the pre¬ 
ceding reign, and to accept thankfully a 
spiritual domination far more intolerable 
than that thrown off by Cromwell and his 
associates. It was not matters of second¬ 
ary importance—an observance, a lesson, 
or even an act of despotism whose effects 
might be temporary, that they felt called 
upon to resist. They were contending 


36 ILVEKTON KECTOKY. 

for principles whose unchecked violation 
might result in darkness and spiritual 
bondage. They were loyal subjects, and 
would gladly have obeyed the king in all 
things where conscience was not concern¬ 
ed ; but the party which, since the time 
of Laud, had been stealthily endeavoring 
to graft the principles of Romanism on 
the Protestant church, were resolved to 
insist on absolute conformity, or eject¬ 
ment and beggary as the alternative. 

Under these circumstances, what could 
the Puritan clergymen do? They were 
studious, highly educated men, accus¬ 
tomed to a life of respectability and com¬ 
fort, and they dearly loved the families 
whose temporal interests all hung upon 
their decision, and who by non-conformity 
would be reduced from competency to 
abject poverty. As they looked round 
on their pleasant homes, and saw their 
unconscious children sporting in the gar- 


THE ST0EM GATHEEING. 3f 

dens or groves, ignorant of the pang 
which rent their hearts, how difficult is 
it for us, in this age of toleration, even to 
imagine the conflicts experienced by those 
devoted men, while day by day the convic¬ 
tion settled down upon their souls, of the 
impossibility of subscribing to that which 
they abhorred, for the sake of earthly 
ease and emolument. 

Who can adequately portray the solic¬ 
itude with which they revolved the ques¬ 
tion whether they could by any means 
obey the requisition of Parliament, and 
yet continue with the flocks over which 
the Holy Ghost had made them over- 
7 seers; and as they were compelled to an¬ 
swer the inquiry in the negative, no eye 
but that of God witnessed the anguish 
which swept over their souls as they look¬ 
ed into the dark future, where nothing 
but the lowest menial labor stood be¬ 
tween them and absolute starvation. It 


38 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

was not in their own persons only they 
were about to suffer. When called on 
to give the important answer that was to 
seal their fate, they knew that every mem¬ 
ber of the household would share the bit¬ 
ter cup of persecution. 

By a refinement of cruelty worthy of 
Laud or Jeffreys, the non-conformist min¬ 
ister was forbidden to reside in, or even 
to approach within five miles of any cor¬ 
porate town, or to exercise the vocation 
of teacher or preceptor in any way what¬ 
ever. There remained then no resource 
for those refined and gifted men, the 
pupils and friends of Owen and Howe 
and Baxter and Charnock, men of whom 
the world was not worthy, but day-labor 
in the rural districts where alone they 
were permitted to reside. 

Some there were among their number, 
who, like Pliable in Bunyan’s immortal 


THE STOEM GATHEKING. 39 

allegory, were willing to become all things 
to all men, in a sense very different from 
that intended by the apostle. They had 
been Prelatists under the first Charles, 
Presbyterians in the time of the Long 
Parliament, Independents under Crom¬ 
well, and were now ready to become Con¬ 
formists under the second Charles. One 
such, meeting a brother who had been 
ejected for non-conformity, taunted him 
with the poverty of his threadbare coat. 

“ Yes,” replied the good man, “I know 
it is old and worn; but one thing I can 
say for the coat, it has never been turned .” 

Another excellent man, when asked 
how he would support his family, consist¬ 
ing of a wife and ten children, answered, 
“They must depend on the bank of faith, 
described in the sixth chapter of Mat¬ 
thew.” 

“I know,” said the great and good Dr. 
Bates in his farewell sermon, “I know 
you will expect me to say something as 


40 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

to my non-conformity. I shall only say 
this much ; it is neither fancy, faction, 
nor ill-humor that makes me not to sub¬ 
scribe, but merely for the fear of offend¬ 
ing God. And if after the best means 
used for my illumination, as prayer to 
God, discourse, or study, I am not able 
to be satisfied of the lawfulness of what 
is required—if it be my unhappiness to 
be in an error, surely man may have no 
reason to be angry with me in this world, 
and I humbly hope God will pardon me 
in the next.” 

Another good man, Mr. Atkin, remarks 
in answer to the charge of disaffection: 

“Let him never be accounted a sound 
Christian, who doth, not fear God and 
honor the king. I beg that you will not 
interpret our non-conformity into an act 
of disloyalty towards the king. We will 
do any thing for his majesty but sin. 


THE STORM GATHERING. 41 

We will hazard any thing for him but 
our souls. We hope we could die for 
him, but we are not willing to be damned 
for him. We make no question, however 
we may be accounted of here, that we 
shall be found loyal and obedient sub¬ 
jects at our appearance before the tribu¬ 
nal of God.” 

The rector of Ilverton had received a 
copy of the Act of Uniformity soon after 
its passage by Parliament. Day after 
day, alone in his study, with his Bible 
and his God, he pondered the subject. 
With no one near him, the path of duty 
seemed so plain that the wayfaring man 
though a fool need not err therein; but 
when he met the wife and children whose 
interests were bound up with his own, he 
was often conscious of an intense desire 
to find some middle course between con¬ 
formity and absolute beggary. 

The struggle, though severe, could not, 
in a mind constituted like his, be of long 


42 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

continuance. The Saviour has said, “If 
any man will do His will, he shall know 
of the doctrine/’ and as it was the first 
wish of Mr. Leigh’s heart, to do the will 
of his divine Master, he was not left in 
doubt as to the course he ought to pur¬ 
sue in such an exigency. He could not, 
where principle was concerned, consult 
expediency rather than right, and how¬ 
ever fearful the consequences of a refusal 
might be, it was impossible to subscribe 
ex animo , to all the requisitions of the 
Act of Uniformity. 

While a doubt remained upon his mind 
in reference to his future course, nothing 
was said by him to Mrs. Leigh of the trial 
through which he was passing; for though 
he knew her to be a sincere and earnest 
disciple of Jesus, she was also a devoted 
wife and mother, and the flesh might well 
shrink from such a sacrifice as that which 
lay before them. As soon however as 


THE STORM GATHERING. 43 

his duty was made clear, he sought those 
whom his decision most concerned, with 
the result already stated. But though a 
terrible weight was lifted from his heart 
by the meek and cheerful submission of 
those beloved beings, he could not help 
continually asking himself, as he saw them 
moving through the pleasant rooms of the 
rectory, or among its cool and shady 
grounds, ‘ 1 How can they, so delicately nur¬ 
tured, and accustomed to ease and refine¬ 
ment, face the coarse and hard realities 
of the life that lies before them?” 

Old nurse Margery, who had accom¬ 
panied her dear young lady to Ilverton 
on her first coming there as a bride, and 
who had been the faithful nurse of Annie 
and Rose, would not listen for an in¬ 
stant to the proposition of leaving them 
for a home of her own, as she had 
saved enough to support her in her old 
age. 


44 ILVEET0N EECTOEY. 

“No, no,” was her reply. “I have 
eaten of your bread and drank of your 
cup in prosperity all these years, and I 
am not going to turn my back on my best 
friends in their trouble, when my mis¬ 
tress will need old Margery more than 
ever. Besides I am too old to look up a 
new home and new people now, and no¬ 
body can ever seem to me like the chil¬ 
dren I have cared for so many years. I 
have enough laid up to supply all my 
needs, and shall want no wages or bounty, 
but it would break my heart to say good- 
by to my children and my dear good 
lady.” 

“Say no more, my kind Margery,” re¬ 
plied Mrs. Leigh, “we will not send 
away such a friend, when so few remain 
to us. I thank God, and next to him, I 
thank you, for the kindness which prompts 
your offer, and accept it as an earnest 
that we are not utterly forsaken. We go 


THE STORM GATHERING. 45 

out from this endeared home, not know¬ 
ing whither the Lord will lead us; but 
since it is impossible to go where He is 
not, we will have no fear. He who sent 
manna from heaven in the desert, and 
gave water from the flinty rock to his 
fainting people, will not now leave those 
who trust in him to want for any good 
thing.” 


46 


ILVERTON RECTORY. 


CHAPTER III. 

WINSTON PARK. 

About fifteen miles to the north of the 
parish of Ilverton, lay Winston Park, 
the splendid manorial residence of Sir 
Richard Brent, who, by his marriage with 
Jacqueline, daughter and heiress of Lord 
Scrope, had come into possession of a 
princely heritage in that and the adjoin¬ 
ing counties. The house was a modern 
building, the ancient seat of the family 
having been burned to the ground by a 
band of Ireton’s troops during the civil 
war. 

It was of great extent, built round a 
hollow square, the faqade of Corinthian 
architecture, with pillars, pilasters, and 
entablature of white marble, curiously 
wrought by workmen brought from Italy 
for that purpose. 


WINSTON PARK. 4T 

The park was many miles in extent, 
well stocked with deer, and remarkable 
for the great size and beauty of the trees, 
some of which were known to be nearly 
a thousand years old. Sir Richard would 
as soon have dreamed of converting the 
portraits of his ancestors which adorned 
the picture gallery into firewood, as of 
cutting down one of those forest monarchs, 
for any purpose whatever. The porter’s 
lodge, a small cottage covered with hon¬ 
eysuckles and clematis, was situated at 
the entrance of the grounds, opposite the 
principal front of the house ; and from it 
a circular carriage drive led up to the 
grand portico, terminating in an espla¬ 
nade filled with rare and beautiful exotics. 

The interior of the building correspond¬ 
ed in magnificence with its external ap¬ 
pearance. There were splendid suites of 
apartments, with floors of mosaic, hang¬ 
ings of rich tapestry, cabinets and tables 


48 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

of inlaid work, and rare pictures of the 
old masters, some of which were invalu¬ 
able gems of art; but more beautiful than 
all the rest, was the old chapel, rescued 
from the flames when the remainder of 
the building was destroyed, with its win¬ 
dows of stained glass, its illuminated mis¬ 
sals and breviaries, and a miniature copy 
of Ruben’s “descent from the cross,” 
carved in ivory by Benvenuto Cellini 
the great Florentine artist, which was of 
priceless worth. 

The ancestors of Sir Richard had been 
stanch Catholics for many generations, 
and though his great grandfather had 
become a nominal Protestant in the reign 
of Elizabeth, a strong leaning to Prelacy 
had always distinguished the family, un¬ 
til the accession of the present baronet 
to the estate. Sir Richard Brent was a 
man of the world, vain of his ancient 
name, of his large estates, his high-born 


WINSTON PAKK. 


49 


wife, and above all of his son and heir, 
the young Clarence; but there was in him 
little of the material of which bigots are 
made. Like Gallio, he cared for none of 
those things about which Churchmen and 
Puritans differed, and willingly left to his 
wife the sole charge of the family con¬ 
science in all matters pertaining to relig¬ 
ion. When not irritated by opposition 
to any of his cherished plans, the baronet 
was courteous and kind; a steadfast and 
generous friend, but an unforgiving and 
dangerous enemy. 

The Lady Jacqueline, who was connect¬ 
ed by birth with many of the principal 
English families, was a proud and over¬ 
bearing woman, severe in her manners, 
hardly deigning to unbend even to her 
only child, who was secretly the idol of her 
heart. It was rumored and believed by 
many of her dependents, that Lady Brent 
was at heart a Catholic, though she out- 
4 


llverton Rectory. 


50 ILVEETON KECTOEY. 

wardly conformed to the worship of the 
Established church. Certain it was, that 
when at Winston Park, which happened 
but seldom, there were services in the 
chapel, at which none of the domestics 
but her ladyship’s own woman were al¬ 
lowed to be present, and strange men of 
foreign garb and mien were at such times 
guests in the family, coming and going in 
her ladyship’s train. 

Most of her time was spent in London, 
or at Eversden, a place which she pos¬ 
sessed in her own right, and which for 
some unknown reason she preferred to 
Winston Park. Surrounded as she usu¬ 
ally was by a large and fashionable cir¬ 
cle, she had little leisure or inclination 
for the cultivation of the domestic affec¬ 
tions; hence she was almost a stranger 
to the real character of her son, though 
he was the one thing on earth most pre¬ 
cious in her sight. 


WINSTON PARK. 51 

And Clarence Brent was in truth well 
calculated to call forth all the pride and 
fondness of a mother’s heart. Ardent, 
enthusiastic, and imaginative, gifted with 
the “too much” in every thing pertain¬ 
ing to the domain of. feeling and sensibil¬ 
ity, he needed a firm, wise hand to re¬ 
strain and guide him, to check the exu¬ 
berance of youthful emotion, and to draw 
out the energy and strength of purpose 
latent in his character. Instead of this, 
he was accustomed, from childhood, to 
subservience and flattery from all around 
him; from Sir Richard and Lady Brent 
to the valet of the young heir, all were 
his blind and unquestioning worshippers. 
Nothing but his naturally fine temper 
saved Clarence from becoming a domes¬ 
tic tyrant; as it was, he only became 
weary and indifferent to all around him. 
At school and at the university he took 
the first stand among his classmates in 


52 ILVEET0N EECTOEY. 

scholarship; but he took it as he did every 
thing else, without interest and without 
effort. He had too much refinement of 
taste, and too just a perception of moral 
excellence, to find any enjoyment in as¬ 
sociation with the openly vicious, or to 
be tempted by low and sensual pleasures; 
but he was in great danger of becoming 
that most useless and hopeless of charac¬ 
ters, a moral Sybarite, sunk in effemina¬ 
cy and sloth, when a casual introduction 
to the family at the rectory of Ilverton 
first taught him the wants and capacities 
of his own nature, and changed the indo¬ 
lent dreamer into an earnest resolute 
man. 

Young Brent had graduated at Oxford 
with high honors, and was staying at 
Winston Park alone, while Sir Richard 
and Lady Brent were on the Continent 
with a party of friends, expecting to be 
joined by Clarence as soon as his latest 


WINSTON PAKK. 


53 


whim, a desire for solitude, had been 
gratified by a few days’ experience. 

It was a lovely morning in early au¬ 
tumn, and after some hours spent in read¬ 
ing, the young man became weary, and 
with his dog and gun, resolved to spend 
a part of the day in exploring the coun¬ 
try for something new. Since his boy¬ 
hood he had been but seldom at Winston, 
and knew nothing of what lay beyond 
the park, so that the adventure had all 
the zest of novelty. The scenery was 
charming, and new beauties were con¬ 
stantly opening before him, drawing him 
onward, until he found himself far beyond 
his father’s domain, and in a region of 
which he knew nothing. 

He had ascended the side of a deep 
ravine, and found himself on a spot of 
table-land, round which the hills formed 
a fine panorama; while just below him a 
murmuring brook ran by, giving an air 


54 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

of quiet beauty to the scene, which might 
otherwise have seemed lonely and wild. 
Just as he was about to retrace his steps, 
he caught sight of a picture which arrest¬ 
ed him and chained his attention. A 
beautiful child with golden hair and eyes 
of “heaven’s own blue,” was standing 
before a young lady, busily engaged in 
twining wild flowers among the auburn 
ringlets that hung in such profusion about 
the face and neck of the fair unknown. 
When the work was finished, the child 
stepped back to take a look at the effect, 
and then seizing the hand of the elder, 
she exclaimed, 

“Oh, it is so pretty, sister. Come to 
the water, and you can see how sweetly 
the flowers look in your hair. I did it 
all myself;” and the child actually danced 
in the joy and excitement of the moment. 

The elder sister rose, and stepping to 
the brook, bent over it with a smile, dis- 










- * 

































































WINSTON PARK. 


55 


closing to Clarence as she did so a face 
sweeter than any he had ever yet beheld, 
even in his dreams. As she spoke, her 
voice completed the fascination which 
held him silent and spell-bound, fearing 
almost to breathe lest the beautiful tab¬ 
leau should dissolve before his eyes. 

“Your little fingers have done won¬ 
ders, darling Rose; but now we must 
hasten home, or mamma will be anxious. 
We have wandered further than usual, 
and must return immediately.” 

At that moment Clarence stepped for¬ 
ward, and with a courteous grace pecul¬ 
iarly his own, ventured to address the 
young stranger. 

“I find myself in an unknown region,” 
he said, “having wandered hither by 
chance: may I presume to inquire, fair 
lady, where I am, and whither this path 
leads ?” 

Annie Leigh wa,s at first startled at 


56 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

this sudden appearance of a stranger in 
a spot so lonely; but as he was evident¬ 
ly a sportsman, and there was nothing in 
his manner to excite distrust, she replied, 

“You are but a short distance from 
Ilverton, which lies over the hills yon¬ 
der, and this path leads directly to the 
village.” 

So saying she took the hand of Rose, 
and bowing courteously, prepared to 
leave the place; but Clarence, who had no 
disposition to relinquish the adventure, 
accompanied them, assisting the child, 
whenever the inequalities of the path re¬ 
tarded their progress. There was about 
the young man, whenever he was deeply 
interested, an air of sincerity and kind¬ 
ness, which won the confidence of all 
with whom he associated. It was not 
long therefore before the young people 
were conversing freely; nay, so far had 
he gained upon Rose, that when she com- 


WINSTON PARK. 


57 


plained of being tired, slie suffered him, 
with a little pretty coyness and hesita¬ 
tion, to lay aside his gun, and take her 
on his shoulder. In this way they ap¬ 
proached Ilverton; and on reaching the 
rectory, Annie could not avoid giving 
the stranger an invitation to enter, which 
it is unnecessary to say was gladly ac¬ 
cepted. Mr. Leigh was absent on a visit 
to the metropolis; but Annie heard him 
announce his name and residence to her 
mother with no small trepidation. It 
was then the son and heir of the great 
man of the county with whom she had 
been so familiarly conversing, and who 
had yielded to the playful caprices of 
little Rose as freely as if they had been 
his equals. 

And such he seemed in truth to con¬ 
sider them, or rather to deem the inter¬ 
view a favor accorded to himself, for 
never before had he made such efforts to 


58 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

produce a favorable impression as dur¬ 
ing the hour spent at the rectory that 
morning. When he returned home, life 
had acquired a new meaning and inter¬ 
est: he asked not why; he only knew 
that the family at Ilverton interested 
him more than any he had ever yet seen. 

Various pretexts were found for going 
again and again, and on every visit he 
discovered new charms in the lovely and 
intelligent girl, who differed so greatly 
from the fashionable ladies he had hith¬ 
erto met, that she seemed hardly to be¬ 
long to the same species. 

The good rector was still away, and 
his excellent wife found so much pleasure 
in the society of the fascinating stranger, 
that she was not careful to anatyze the 
motives which brought him thither so 
constantly. She never thought of dan¬ 
ger to her beloved child from his visits, 
until the bright blush which followed 


WINSTON PARK. 


59 


every mention of his name, and the thrill 
of pleasure which lighted up every fea¬ 
ture of her expressive face when he ap¬ 
peared, warned her that the child was 
now a woman, with all a woman’s capac¬ 
ity of loving and suffering. 

The husband on whose judgment she 
had always been accustomed to rely was 
absent, and she shrank from saying to 
Clarence that his visits must be discon¬ 
tinued. Another fear was still more 
embarrassing: should she not compro¬ 
mise the maiden delicacy of her daugh¬ 
ter by hinting at the reason for such an 
announcement? 

While she still hesitated, Clarence was 
summoned to join his parents immediate¬ 
ly, and left Winston without any open 
declaration of the love which had spoken 
through every look and tone, and which 
seemed to him to be interwoven with 
every fibre of his being. He could not 


60 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

for a moment persuade himself that his 
haughty mother would sanction such an 
attachment; but his will had thus far 
been absolute in the household, and it 
was impossible, he thought, that now, 
when his whole happiness was at stake, 
his feelings and wishes-should be disre¬ 
garded by his parents. 

Meantime he was resolved to endeavor 
to become more worthy of the pure and 
lovely being who had first awakened his 
higher nature, and convinced him of the 
aimless life he had hitherto been pur¬ 
suing. 

He found in his mother’s party at 
Florence, the Lady Alicia Somers, a dis¬ 
tant relative of his own, and a fashion¬ 
able heiress, whom he had once been in¬ 
clined to admire, but who seemed now, 
in comparison with the bright image 
enshrined in his heart, a mere painted 
butterfly, unworthy a moment’s serious 


WINSTON PARK. 


61 


thought. It was not long, however, be¬ 
fore he discovered that his mother had a 
purpose in bringing them together ; and 
long experience had taught him that her 
ladyship’s purposes were not easily evad¬ 
ed or thwarted. The young couple were 
constantly thrown together, and matters 
so arranged, that without positive rude¬ 
ness, Clarence could not avoid becoming 
on all occasions the escort of his cousin, 
who appropriated his attentions as coolly 
as if he had been her own special prop¬ 
erty. 

He bore this for some time with toler¬ 
able patience, hoping that his evident 
coldness and indifference might be un¬ 
derstood. At length, however, seeing no 
hope of this, his temper gave way, and 
he resolved to put an end to the annoy¬ 
ance. Accordingly the next time that 
Lady Alicia was assigned to his care, he 
declined the honor so pointedly, that the 


62 ILVEET0N EECTOKY. 

young lady was very indignant, and com¬ 
plained to her aunt of the alleged insult. 

“What is this I hear of you, Clar¬ 
ence?” inquired her ladyship the next 
day, as the young man entered her room. 
“ Is it possible that my son is capable of 
offering an insult to a lady, and a young 
and beautiful one like Lady Alicia Som¬ 
ers? I could not have believed it on 
any ordinary authority.” 

“ You may well hesitate to believe the 
fact, my lady mother, for I assure you I 
would not wilfully insult the meanest or 
poorest thing that wears the form of 
woman. But permit me to ask why I 
am subjected to this constant martyrdom 
on account of this young lady ? I have 
not been a free agent since my arrival at 
Florence. Without any wish of my own, 
or rather in defiance of my wishes, I find 
her ladyship always at my side, ready to 
monopolize my time and attentions, to 


WINSTON PARK. 


63 


the exclusion of all more pleasant en¬ 
gagements, until it has become impossi¬ 
ble longer to bear the annoyance. If 
you hope in this way to bring about a 
union between the families, let me assure 
you that nothing could defeat the plan 
more surely than such a course. Left to 
myself, I might have liked Lady Alicia 
as a relative; now I utterly detest her.” 

“Clarence,” said Lady Brent coldly, 
“spare my nerves, I entreat you, this 
vulgar exhibition of temper, which noth¬ 
ing can justify or excuse. You are 
young yet, and know very little about 
your duties to your family, or to the sta¬ 
tion you are to occupy in society; but 
believe me, I know them well, and am 
not likely to forget them. Certain things 
are required of you by birth and position. 
If you choose to term them sacrifices, so 
let it be, they are none the less neces¬ 
sary; none the less is it true that they 


64 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

are demanded, and must be conceded by 
you.” 

“ But, my mother, am I not to be con¬ 
sulted in regard to the disposal of my 
own affections ? Is my happiness or mis¬ 
ery nothing in your eyes ?” 

“Undoubtedly it is; but at your age, 
one has dreams which on awaking are 
found to be romantic and impracticable. 
The time will come when you will look 
back on the visions of youth with aston¬ 
ishment and contempt.” 

“ May I never live to see that day. I 
cannot, will not believe the hideous doc¬ 
trine that all which is best and brightest 
on earth is only a dream. If it be so, 
then let me still dream on, and cherish 
the dear deceit that is so much sweeter 
than reality. My mother, I believe you 
love your son; will you not consent to 
let me be happy in my own way ? I do 
not love Lady Alicia; nay, she is posi- 


WINSTON PARK. 


65 


tively disagreeable to me, and nothing 
can induce me to degrade myself by act¬ 
ing a lie, in offering her attentions which 
my heart disavows.” 

“My son,” said Lady Brent haughtily, 
“you should have been born an actor. 
This tragic rant would make your for¬ 
tune on the stage, but it is quite thrown 
away upon me. I hoped better things of 
you, I confess. I thought you would be 
more amenable to reason. But you are 
the spoiled darling of fortune, and allow¬ 
ance must be made for your caprices. 
But beware of carrying them too far. 
There are limits even to parental fond¬ 
ness, and I trust you will be warned in 
time.” 

The young man had resolved during 
this interview to throw himself on his 
mother’s indulgence, and tell her the 
whole story of his love for Annie Leigh, 
and the impossibility of giving her up; 
5 


IZverton Rectory. 


66 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

but there was something in the chilling 
repulsion of her manner, which checked 
the words just springing to his lips, and 
sent him from her presence hopeless of 
obtaining the parental sanction to his 
wishes, but more than ever resolved to 
seek his own happiness in his own way. 
Alas for the young man who, in his hour 
of need, when the passions are all awake 
and clamoring for gratification, has no 
mother’s heart to which he may turn for 
sympathy and assistance in the perilous 
conflict! Alas for such an one when 
there is nothing in the remembrance of 
his parents to make him feel that relig¬ 
ion is not a fable—that faith, truth, and 
honor are not mere catchwords to de¬ 
ceive the ignorance and dupe the credu¬ 
lity of the multitude! 

In the desperation of the moment, 
Clarence might have doubted whether 
there was such a thing as goodness on the 


WINSTON PAKK. 


67 


earth, but for the memories of Ilverton 
rectory, and the lessons of piety and ex¬ 
cellence learned from the lips and lives 
of its inmates. Every thing about him 
seemed hollow and unsubstantial, mock¬ 
ing him with the semblance of enjoyment, 
and like the apples of Sodom, turning to 
ashes in his grasp; but there was one 
spot, bright as love and hope could paint 
it, which to his excited imagination was 
an Eden of bliss, unstained by the cor¬ 
ruption of earth. 

He detached himself more and more 
from his mother and her circle, and spent 
hours every day in wandering about the 
beautiful Val d’Arno, dreaming of the 
past and picturing the future, wholly 
neglecting the duties of the present. 
Fortunately for him, it was resolved in 
family conclave that before entering on 
public life, it was expedient for him to 
make the tour of Europe and visit its 


68 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

principal courts; and a gentleman had 
been already selected by Sir Richard as 
the companion and mentor of his son 
during his travels. The same gracious 
though unknown Providence which had 
hitherto watched over the young man 
for good, guided in the choice of this in¬ 
dividual ; for, unlike the most of domes¬ 
tic tutors in that age, Mr. Watson was a 
man of integrity and honor, who under¬ 
stood his duties, and sought to fulfil them 
towards the youth committed to his 
charge. 

Mr. Watson accompanied Clarence to 
London, where the necessary arrange¬ 
ments were to be made; and from thence 
they proceeded to Winston Park to trans¬ 
act some business for Sir Richard, which 
detained them for a week. On the even¬ 
ing after his arrival the young man has¬ 
tened to the rectory, but found the family 
all absent. Mr. and Mrs. Leigh were at 


WINSTON PAKK. 


69 


the seaside for the health of the latter, 
while Annie was making a visit of a 
few days to a friend in a neighboring 
county. 

Every day found him at Ilverton, vain¬ 
ly hoping for her return, until the period 
fixed for his stay had nearly expired, 
when, in passing through the wood where 
he had first met Annie on his way to 
Ilverton, the unusual sound of merriment 
met his ear, proceeding from a group of 
youths and maidens in holiday attire, 
who were collected round a May-pole in 
the open space above the ravine. It 
was May-day, and the young girls of the 
village had chosen their queen, and were 
crowning her with appropriate ceremo¬ 
nies, while Annie Leigh, who seemed the 
presiding genius of the scene, stood at a 
little distance, enjoying the happiness of 
those about her. 

Haw beautiful she looked to Clarence 


70 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

in her robes of simple white, with no 
other ornament than her wreath of au¬ 
burn hair, worn untortured by art, and 
the unconscious grace which dictated and 
controlled every movement Never, in 
the halls of wealth and fashion, had he 
seen a face and form which seemed to 
him so perfect a model of womanhood, as 
it came from the hand of the Creator. 
For a few moments he gazed unobserved 
on this central figure of the scene; then 
advancing towards her, his heart thrilled 
with delight as he marked the vivid blush 
and smile which greeted his appearance. 
He had resolved to say nothing to her 
of his love until after his return from the 
Continent; but at this unexpected meet¬ 
ing all his good resolutions took flight, 
and drawing her aside from the noisy 
circle round the May-pole, in a few burn¬ 
ing words he poured out his heart before 
her. 


WINSTON PARK. 


71 


Startled and affrighted at his vehe¬ 
mence, the trembling girl could not at 
first reply; but his assurances of love 
found an echo in her own heart, and ere 
she was aware he had drawn from her 
the confession that it was so. Not until 
she had reached home, and in the silence 
of her own apartment recalled the events 
of the last few hours, was she sensible of 
her own imprudence in forgetting the 
barriers which separated her from her 
lover. But even then hope whispered 
that Clarence, with his enthusiasm and 
determination, would surely find some 
way of overcoming those obstacles. An¬ 
nie was young, and in her eyes her par¬ 
ents were the first of earthly beings. It 
was impossible therefore for her to real¬ 
ize that Sir Richard and Lady Brent 
would regard their son’s alliance with 
the family of the rector a degradation. 
Still, in disposing of her own affec- 


72 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

tions without parental sanction, Annie 
felt that she had erred; and when Clar¬ 
ence came the next day to Ilverton, he 
found her wholly unprepared to confirm 
his hopes, or even to listen to his protes¬ 
tations of affection. In vain he assured 
her that, with a mother’s penetration, 
Mrs. Leigh must have read his heart, and 
tacitly approved what she saw there; in 
vain he declared his conviction that the 
consent of her own parents would be 
freely given when, on his return, he could 
openly claim her for his own. 

“I have done very wrong,” was her 
only reply; “but not even for you, dear 
Clarence, can I take another step without 
the knowledge and consent of my father 
and mother. Something tells me the 
happiness of which we have dreamed is 
not for us, and I would not willingly add 
self-reproach to the bitterness of separa¬ 
tion.” 


WINSTON PARK. 78 

“Bless you for tlie acknowledgment, 
dearest, that our separation will be bit¬ 
ter to you. Do not, however, believe 
for a moment that it will be final. As 
surely as my life is spared to see Eng¬ 
land once more, so surely shall we meet 
again, and in circumstances where I can 
declare my choice and openly claim this 
dear hand before the world.” 

The next day the young man left Win¬ 
ston, and the utmost boon his eloquence 
could obtain previous to his departure, 
was the blushing confession that, were 
all other obstacles to their union re¬ 
moved, none would exist in her own 
heart. 

The conversation between Annie and 
her mother, recorded in the first chapter, 
took place some days after Mrs. Leigh’s 
return to the rectory, and the change of 
circumstances which then came upon 
them, seemed to Annie to divide her so 


74 1 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

hopelessly from the heir of Sir Richard 
Brent, that the subject was not men¬ 
tioned to her father, and her attachment 
was as truly buried in her own heart as 
if the grave had already closed over its 
object. 


THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 


15 


CHAPTER IY. 

THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 

Sunday, the 24th of August, 1662, 
called in England Black Bartholomew, 
in memory of this day, dawned as bright¬ 
ly on the rectory of Ilverton as though 
happy hearts, instead of breaking ones, 
welcomed its light. As the family met 
in the pleasant breakfast-room, it was 
with quivering lips and blanched cheeks 
that the morning salutations were ex¬ 
changed ; for all knew that the sun which 
rose on them in peace and plenty, would, 
ere its setting, see them reduced to ob¬ 
scurity and pauperism. Annie Leigh, 
before leaving her own room, had sought 
strength where alone it was to be found, 
and her smile, if it had lost something of 
its former radiance, was full of the souks 


16 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

light, as she came in from the garden with 
a bouquet of fresh flowers for her mother, 
saying, as she presented them, 

“ These dear little pensioners on God’s 
bounty greeted me with such a cheering 
good-morning, that I could not resist the 
wish to bring them to you, my mother, 
that they may gladden your heart as 
they have mine.” 

“Thank you, love; they do indeed 
teach a sweet lesson. If God so clothe 
the grass of the field, shall he not much 
more take thought and care for his de¬ 
pendent children ?” 

The prayer which rose from the fam¬ 
ily altar that morning, at which the father 
and pastor officiated, seemed to take hold 
of the throne of God, as he pleaded with 
a fervor that could not be denied, for 
strength and grace to carry him through 
the trying services of that eventful day. 

An immense audience had assembled 


THE DAT OF. EJECTMENT. 77 

in the village church to hear the pastor’s 
solemn farewell, for it was known through¬ 
out the town and vicinity, that Mr. Leigh 
had refused to subscribe, and must there¬ 
fore leave on the morrow. As the loved 
and venerated pastor moved slowly up the 
aisle with sad yet steadfast mien, follow¬ 
ed by his family, there were tears in eyes 
unused to weeping, while in many pews 
loud sobs testified the affection felt for 
the inmates of the rectory, and the sor¬ 
row occasioned by the thought, that in 
that hallowed building their faces would 
be seen no more. 

Mr. Leigh took for his text on this 
occasion the words of Paul to the perse¬ 
cuted Hebrews: “Ye took joyfully the 
spoiling of your goods, knowing in your¬ 
selves that ye have in heaven a better 
and more enduring substance.” After 
dwelling at length on the sufferings of 
the early Christians for conscience’ sake, 


18 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

and the grace of God which supported 
and comforted them under it all, he closed 
by saying, 

“ And now, dear brethren, members of 
the flock to which I have so long minis¬ 
tered in the gospel, I know you will ex¬ 
pect me to say something of the cause 
which is about to separate us, and to 
send me forth in my age houseless and 
penniless upon the world. Let me tell 
you this much: it is not obstinacy, nor 
pride, nor ill-humor which moves me in 
this matter. I know our enemies will 
tell you that we are vain and peevish, 
and would fain all be bishops, with di¬ 
vers other evil things; but the Lord be 
witness between them and us in this. I 
could do very much for the love I bear 
my people; but I dare not sin. Belov¬ 
ed, I prefer my wife and children before 
a blast of air or the talk of the multitude, 
and am very sensible of what it is to be 


'THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 79 

reduced to a morsel of bread. Day and 
night, with prayer- and fasting, I have 
sought that this cup might pass from me, 
if so it was possible with a good con¬ 
science ; but it may not be. I would do 
or suffer any thing that is right to keep 
myself in the work of God; but to sin 
against him and my own soul, I dare 
not do it. I cannot subscribe to that 
which I neither believe nor in many 
things can innocently follow, and there¬ 
fore must embrace the alternative, silence 
and beggary. Let the God of heaven 
and earth do what he will with me and 
mine; our enemies cannot drive us be¬ 
yond his gracious presence, and Elijah’s 
God has still the power and will to pro¬ 
vide for those who trust him.” 

With a few words of tender and pa¬ 
thetic exhortation to each member of the 
assembly, he closed with the apostolic 
benediction, and bade farewell to the 


80 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

pulpit from which, for nearly twenty 
years, he had dispensed the word of life 
to an attentive and affectionate congre¬ 
gation. The people flocked round him 
as he came down the aisle, each one 
eager to obtain a last word or look from 
one so justly beloved. 

A grey-haired old man, whose love for 
the rector was one of the strongest feel¬ 
ings of his nature, pulled at his gown 
exclaiming, 

“Ah, Mr. Leigh, if we might only get 
by this evil day, and keep you still for 
our minister, who knows what God would 
do for us ?” 

“It cannot be, my friend, though I 
would gladly stay with you, if I might 
do it with a safe conscience.” 

“ Oh, dear sir,” was the quaint reply, 
“many nowadays make a great gash in 
their consciences; couldn’t you just make 
a little nick in yours ?” 


THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 81 

“ Recollect, my brother, we are for¬ 
bidden to do evil that good may come. 
I must obey God, whatever may be the 
consequences.” 

The hymns sung at family worship on 
that last evening in the rectory, were se¬ 
lected by the father with special refer¬ 
ence to their peculiar circumstances; and 
as the sweet, rich voice of Annie gave 
utterance to the words of faith and trust 
which have comforted so many suffering 
children of God, the heart of Mrs. Leigh, 
which seemed to be bound in fetters of 
iron, melted within her, and tears like 
summer showers were falling silently, 
when little Rose came softly up, and 
throwing her arms about her mother’s 
neck and laying her soft cheek to hers, 
whispered, 

“What is the matter, dear mamma? 
Is ‘ our Father who art in heaven 7 dead, 
that makes you cry so much ?” 

6 


Ilverton Rectory. , 


82 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

“Verily,” exclaimed the pastor, “out 
of the mouth of babes and sucklings God 
is reproving our lack of faith, and teach¬ 
ing us wisdom. Let us remember, dear 
wife and children, our Father is not 
dead, nor are his resources diminished. 
If he marks the cry of the sparrow for 
food, he will not forget us, for, sinful and 
weak as we are, he has declared us of 
more value than many sparrows.” 

Monday, the dreaded day of ejectment, 
found the family at the rectory early 
astir, for much remained to be done be¬ 
fore taking their leave of that pleasant 
and happy home. The few plain arti¬ 
cles of furniture which would be needed 
in the humble dwelling henceforth to be 
theirs, were to be selected, and the re¬ 
mainder disposed of to the best advan¬ 
tage among their neighbors and friends. 
Almost every one was anxious to pos¬ 
sess some memorial of a family so justly 


THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 83 

beloved, and the money thus raised was 
all on which they were to depend for 
present subsistence. It was the more 
needful, since the ejected ministers were 
purposely thrust out of their parishes 
just before the annual payment of the 
tithes, which fell due in September, thus 
depriving them of a year’s income which 
was justly their own. 

When Annie Leigh had made every 
arrangement in her power to lighten the 
burdens of her parents, she stole away 
for a few hours to visit her poor and aged 
pensioners, who for years had been ac¬ 
customed to watch for her coming, as 
the only ray of sunshine that gilded 
their darkened pathway. As she pass¬ 
ed through the orchard and garden, and 
looked for the last time on the trees un¬ 
der whose branches she had played in 
childhood, the flowers she had loved to 
tend, and which in her imagination 


84 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

“Never would in other climate grow,” 

the bitter contrast between the past and 
present overcame her, and for the first 
time in many days she gave way to a 
natural burst of sorrow. Never had the 
home of her childhood seemed so dear 
and beautiful as now, when she must 
leave it for ever. Never had “love’s 
young dream” shone with such enchant¬ 
ing radiance as now, when it was dis¬ 
solving in the sober light of reality. It 
was a dangerous moment for that young 
and untried heart, with such memories 
pressing upon it. 

Just then, however, a little girl be¬ 
longing to a school established by Mrs. 
Leigh and her daughter camo up with an 
apron full of flowers, which she emptied 
into the lap of the young girl, saying, 
“ They ’re all for you, dear Miss Annie; 
we have been picking them this morn¬ 
ing, because we love you so; and granny 


THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 85 

says she hopes you ’ll come and see her 
before you go. But why do you go 
away? it’s such a pretty place here, 
and nobody can ever love you as we do, 
I’m sure; please stay, dear Miss Annie.” 

The strained chords of feeling gave 
way under this infantile touch; but 
though tears fell in torrents, they were 
less bitter, and after a few moments she 
said, taking the hand of the child as she 
rose to leave the grove, 

“You are very kind, my child, to 
think of your teacher, and to gather all 
these beautiful flowers for me. I should 
love to stay with you all, but God ap¬ 
points our lot, and he has made it my 
duty to go with my parents and sister to 
a new home. But always remember, 
Mary, that if you love the Bible and 
obey your teachers and try to serve the 
Saviour, you will see us all again, where 
no wicked men will have power to sep- 


86 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

arate us. Will you promise me to 
try?” 

“I would do any thing in the world 
to live with you always,” replied the 
child; “but there ’ll be nobody to teach 
me how to be good when you are gone, 
and I’m afraid I shall forget what you 
have said, so that I never shall see you 
any more.” 

That was a sad morning for Annie, as 
she visited for the last time the cottages 
of her humble friends, and many a with¬ 
ered cheek was wet with bitter tears, and 
many an aged knee bent in fervent sup¬ 
plication for the lovely young creature 
whose active and judicious kindness had 
so often caused the widow’s heart to sing 
for joy. 

On leaving the cottages, the young 
girl returned home by a cirouitous route, 
which led her past the Grange, a large 
old-fashioned, farm-house belonging to a 


THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 87 

wealthy farmer, one of the few who, since 
the Restoration, had shown themselves 
bitter enemies of the good rector of Ilver- 
ton. Mr. Goodwin was in the field over¬ 
looking his workmen; but when he saw 
the graceful form of Annie Leigh gliding 
along, he came forward hastily, saying 
as he approached her, 

“I am a plain man, Miss Leigh, and 
may as well say to you, that I never 
thought much of your father’s preaching 
and praying, and I have had my doubts 
whether he really believed in them him¬ 
self. Every man has his trade or busi¬ 
ness, and as his was religion, it was only 
natural that he should drive it as fast 
and as far as he could. Mind, I’m only 
telling you what I have thought,” as he 
saw the indignant color rush to the cheek 
and brow of Annie; ‘ 1 but I think so no lon¬ 
ger. Yesterday I learnt another lesson, 
and I’m not likely to forget it. When a 


88 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

man gives up such a living as Ilverton, 
and takes poverty and day-labor instead 
of ease and plenty, all because he wont 
forsake or deny his principles, then it ’s 
time to begin to think there’s something 
in religion more than I’ve got, or am 
likely to have. 

“But I didn’t stop you to talk about 
what I believe or don’t believe; it isn’t 
much matter which. I understand from 
my womankind, that you have some sort 
of musical instrument at your house, on 
which folks learn to play, and that it is 
for sale. My daughter must be sent 
away from home, I suppose, to learn all 
sorts of useless things, and look down on 
her old father and mother, and when she 
comes back, she’ll want something to 
show off upon, and I thought perhaps 
you’d like to part with that instrument.” 

“You are very kind,” replied Annie; 
“we shall have to part with the harpsi- 






• * 













































% 












ft 
































































































































THE DAY OF EJECTMENT. 89 

chord, which is very dear to us from hav¬ 
ing been my mother’s, but we feared there 
would be no one about here who would 
wish to purchase so expensive an arti¬ 
cle.” 

“That’s just what I supposed,” return¬ 
ed the purse-proud farmer; “it isn’t 
every one who can afford to spend such a 
sum for a useless thing like that, but I’ve 
worked hard for my money, and have a 
right to spend it to suit myself. I want 
to say to you, that if ever you should 
choose to have the instrument back again, 
you shall have it at the same price that 
I give; and I take it that’s fair.” 

“My parents will accept your kind of¬ 
fer very gratefully I am certain,” said 
Annie, “and I thank you for the assis¬ 
tance given us in this time of need.” 

With the money thus raised, Mr. Leigh 
was enabled to settle the few outstanding 
bills which were to run until his tithes 


90 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

became due, at Michaelmas, but which 
there now seemed no way to meet, until 
provided for in this manner by a kind 
Providence. 

A market cart furnished by a friend, 
was to take the family, together with their 
humble plenishing, to the new house, which 
none of them had yet seen. As they pass¬ 
ed through the long lines of friends and 
neighbors who had assembled to bid them 
farewell, every hat was raised, and many 
a heartfelt supplication ascended to God, 
for blessings on the beloved exiles. The 
pastor and his family were outwardly 
calm, though the pallid cheek and glisten¬ 
ing eye told a tale of sorrow too deep for 
utterance. 

“ The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide, 
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way.” 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 91 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 

By the kindness of a few friends, a cot¬ 
tage had been obtained for the exiled 
minister and his family, situated among 
the hills, at the distance of eight or ten 
miles from liver ton. It had been occu¬ 
pied by a shepherd on the estate of Sir 
Richard Brent, who had emigrated to 
America a year or two before, leaving 
the house vacant, as the situation was so 
lonely that few cared to occupy it. 

The house was larger and more com¬ 
modious than most of the hovels of the 
poor at that period; boasting two apart¬ 
ments on the ground floor, one compara¬ 
tively large, into which the outer door 
opened, and which was to constitute the 
kitchen and family sitting-room; the oth- 


92 ILYEETON KECTOEY. 

er, opening from this, smaller, and light¬ 
ed by one small window set with diamond 
shaped panes of glass, which was appro¬ 
priated to the use of Mr. and Mrs. Leigh. 
These, with a little chamber for Annie 
and Rose, and an open loft for Margery, 
completed the inventory of apartments. 

When, after a fatiguing journey over a 
rough and hilly road, the family reached 
the house which was henceforth to be 
their home, and entered the desolate 
rooms, looking as though no exercise of 
skill or ingenuity could ever make them 
habitable, Mrs. Leigh became so deadly 
pale, that she seemed about to fall; but 
Annie ran to her side, and throwing her 
arms about her said cheerfully, 

“ Only see, dear mother, what farmer 
Goodwin has done for us. He has had 
the rough walls whitewashed so nicely, 
and boards laid over the earth floors, and 
now we shall soon be comfortable, you 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 93 

will see, dearest mother; only take papa 
and Rose out to the grove yonder for a 
little while, and Margery and good dame 
Green who has come to assist us, will 
make it look quite like another place.” 

With difficulty she persuaded Mrs. 
Leigh to leave all arrangements to her 
and her two efficient assistants; and hav¬ 
ing done so, with a heart lightened of 
half its burdens by the desire to furnish 
a pleasant surprise for that dear mother, 
she set about arranging the inner room. 
Thanks to farmer Goodwin and dame 
Green, this room was in readiness for the 
simple furniture. 

A piece of worn carpeting nearly cov¬ 
ered the rough floor; a white muslin cur¬ 
tain, looped back with a blue ribbon, gave 
an air of taste and refinement to the small 
window, and a case of drawers, a chintz- 
covered sofa, and an old arm-chair, which 
had been saved by Annie from the gen- 


94 ILVERT0N RECTORY. 

eral wreck, made the room look more 
like home than at first deemed possible; 
and when the neat tent-bed with its cov¬ 
ering of pure white was in its place, all 
was ready for the occupants, and with 
light step Annie left the house to find 
and bring them back. 

She had been so engrossed with care 
for others when they first reached the 
cottage, that its surroundings were al¬ 
most unnoticed. Now, however, she saw 
with gladness that in leaving Ilverton 
they had not left all the beauties of na¬ 
ture behind them. Here were wood- 
crowned hills all around, and forests of 
tall, stately trees, and green grass look¬ 
ing as if levelled by the roller; and to 
crown all, a little rippling brook ran just 
below the house, betraying its course by 
the fringe of willows and alders which 
lined its brink. 

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Annie, 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 95 

as she gazed upon the scene. “ Since 
God is here also speaking through his 
works, we cannot be wholly unhappy or 
alone.” 

She found her parents and sister on a 
turf seat by the little brook, and so en¬ 
grossed in thought, that she stood before 
them ere they were aware of her ap¬ 
proach. If there was deep sorrow visi¬ 
ble in those dear faces, there was also 
holy resignation depicted there; and as 
the young girl described the beauties of 
the surrounding scenery with the fervor 
of an enthusiast, a smile, faint and win¬ 
try indeed, but still a smile, was on the 
lip of Mrs. Leigh as she said, 

“You must have looked on nature 
through some beautifying medium, my 
dear child, for we saw nothing of all this 
as we came hither.” 

“ But you shall see it as you go back, 
my mother, and confess that I am right, 


96 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

for I shall take you home by a different 
route, and one that you would hardly 
find yourself.” 

The prospect was seen and admired 
by all the little party, but on reaching 
the house, as Mrs. Leigh was ushered 
into the little room so changed by the 
hand of affection, she burst into tears, 
and fondly clasping her daughter in her 
arms, exclaimed, 

“Forgive me, my Father, for deeming 
myself poor while possessing such a treas¬ 
ure in this good and dutiful child. Hence¬ 
forth let me never repine while my hus¬ 
band and children are left to me.” 

The next morning, Annie and her 
faithful helper were up with the light, 
arranging the few plain articles of furni¬ 
ture in the common room, which, under 
the skilful fingers of the young girl, soon 
wore an aspect of neatness and even of 
comfort; and while old Margery pre- 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 97 

pared the simple breakfast, Annie ran 
down to the brook for a plate of water- 
cresses with which to garnish the neatly 
spread table. When all was in readi¬ 
ness, and little Eose had made her ap¬ 
pearance looking like a flower sparkling 
with morning dew, Annie called her par¬ 
ents, welcoming them with a beaming 
smile to the morning meal. 

The open door, and windows destitute 
of glass, from which the board shutters 
had been thrown back, gave the room 
an air of pleasantness from the verdure 
which everywhere surrounded it; and 
within, perfect neatness and order strip¬ 
ped poverty of its most revolting features. 

“The Lord in heaven bless thee, my 
child,” said the pastor, laying his hand 
fondly on the head of his daughter, “even 
as thou art made a daily and hourly 
blessing to us. Truly He who hath cast 
us down from our former estate, hath gra- 

7 


Ilverton Rectory. 


98 ILVEET0N EECTOEY. 

ciously tempered the stroke by leaving to 
ns all that was most valuable of our former 
possessions—these precious children . 77 

It was impossible that the family of 
the rector should not feel, and that se¬ 
verely, the great change in their condi¬ 
tion, as the thousand discomforts of their 
humble abode pressed heavily upon them 
from day to day; but God was with them 
in the furnace, and the offering which 
ascended from the domestic altar was a 
tribute of praise and thanksgiving, that 
where every blessing was forfeited, so 
many had still been spared. Nor was 
this an evanescent feeling. 

“ Still day by day the Lord those pilgrims led. 

And gave them daily grace like daily bread,” 

while he enabled them to take joyfully 
the evils of this present life, in the pros¬ 
pect of a better and more enduring inher¬ 
itance beyond the grave. 

Several weeks passed, and no employ- 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 99 

ment had yet been found by Mr. Leigh, 
whose scanty funds were rapidly dimin¬ 
ishing, when one day a pony-chaise drove 
up the hill, from which a lady alighted, 
and meeting Rose near the door, was 
conducted by the child into the room 
where Mrs. Leigh and Annie were en¬ 
gaged in some domestic avocation. The 
visitor was of middle age, singularly at¬ 
tired in a costume partaking largely of 
the masculine, and announced herself as 
Miss Harvey of Briar Lodge, an estate 
some miles distant. 

‘‘I have recently lost my bailiff,” she 
said, “ who for years has had charge of 
my rents and lands, and on application 
to my solicitor, who resides in Ilverton, 
was recommended to Mr. Leigh as a suit¬ 
able person to take his place. Can I see 
the man ?” 

A pang almost like that of death thrill¬ 
ed through the heart of Mrs. Leigh as she 


100 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

thought of her husband, educated, refined, 
and intelligent beyond his peers, occu¬ 
pying the station of a menial; but it soon 
passed as she remembered that this was 
a part of the appointed trial, and she 
answered calmly that her husband was 
absent, but would soon return. 

“How is this, my good woman?” in¬ 
quired the visitor ; “one would imagine 
from your appearance and that of these 
beautiful girls that I have made a mis¬ 
take in calling here for the person of 
whom I am in search. You have not al¬ 
ways been in your present station, I 
am certain. Pardon me if I intrude; I 
have no wish to annoy yon with inquiries 
which, after all, do not affect my errand. 
I only wish to know if your husband 
would take the vacant situation on my 
estate.” 

“My husband is here to answer for 
himself,” was the reply, as Mr. Leigh 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 101 

entered the room, and advancing tow¬ 
ards Miss Harvey, saluted her with the 
quiet dignity peculiarly his own. 

“I have certainly been misinformed,” 
she said hastily, and in some confusion; 
“you cannot be the person of whom I 
was in search.” 

“ Iam the same, undoubtedly, madam, 
since circumstances have made it neces¬ 
sary for me to earn my daily bread by 
daily toil; and I am willing to perform 
any honest labor for which a fair requi¬ 
tal may be made.” 

An arrangement was soon entered into 
between the parties, Mr. Leigh only stipu¬ 
lating that his family should remain where 
they were, as from the general appear¬ 
ance of his employer, he had some doubts 
of the permanence of his engagement. 
For some time all went on pleasantly. 
Mr. Leigh’s salary was sufficient to sup¬ 
ply his family with the necessaries and 


102 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

some of the comforts of life, and there 
were opportunities of doing good of which 
he gladly availed himself on every pos¬ 
sible occasion. The former bailiff had 
been a sordid, grasping man, of whom 
the tenants stood in constant fear, and 
they soon learned to love the new stew¬ 
ard in proportion to the dislike and dread 
felt for his predecessor. 

One circumstance alone was a constant 
source of discomfort to Mrs. Leigh, who 
shrank with morbid sensitiveness from 
the approach of strangers. Miss Harvey 
had admired Annie and Rose so much 
on her first visit, that she soon repeated 
it; and as every interview only deep¬ 
ened the impression, she went often to 
the cottage, never imagining that such 
condescension could give any thing but 
pleasure to the secluded family of her 
bailiff. Every thing she saw and heard 
there stimulated her desire to know more 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 103 

of individuals so strangely out of place 
in that desolate abode. Though she felt 
kindly, her questions and allusions were 
galling in the extreme, both to Annie and 
her mother. 

The artless Rose, charmed with the 
good lady who brought her so many 
pretty things, prattled to her of their 
old home", until checked by a look from 
her mother and sister; but little could 
be learned from such a child of the past 
history of the family, and the others were 
invariably silent on the subject, so that 
the curiosity of Miss Harvey was des¬ 
tined to remain ungratified. 

Winter was passing away, and Mr. 
Leigh had begun to find, his new duties 
more tolerable than at first, when one 
Saturday evening, as he was about to 
leave for home, he was summoned to the 
Lodge, where Miss Harvey awaited him 
in the library. 


104 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

“I have sent for yon,” she said, mo¬ 
tioning him to a seat beside the table, 
which was covered with papers, “ to give 
some directions about a matter of busi¬ 
ness which requires immediate attention. 
I cannot give my time to it to-night, as 
I am otherwise engaged, but to-morrow 
is a day of leisure, and if you come early 
to the Lodge, I will give you directions, 
so that in a few hours you can do all that 
I desire.” 

She spoke rapidly, and with the air 
of one who neither expected nor would 
brook refusal; but Mr. Leigh answered 
firmly; though respectfully, 

“My time throughout the six days of 
the week is at your disposal, madam, and 
I will gladly remain to-night and write 
until midnight, if it so please you.” 

“ Have I not said I am engaged, and 
cannot attend to it this evening? Why 
should you prefer staying away from 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 105 

your family to complying with my rea¬ 
sonable request that you should come to¬ 
morrow ?” 

“Because, dear madam, to-morrow is 
not my own day, but belongs to One who 
has forbidden me, on pain of his displeas¬ 
ure, to do any worldly business on the 
Sabbath-day.” 

“You are then one of that miserable 
canting sect the Puritans. I have some¬ 
times suspected the fact, but until now 
have had no proof of it. Am I then to 
understand that you refuse to comply with 
my requirement?” and a most ominous 
frown contracted the harsh features of the 
lady. 

“In aught that concerns myself alone, 
it is both my wish and duty to comply 
with your demands, madam; but where 
duty to God is in question, I may not, 
without sin, obey the creature rather than 
the Creator.” 


106 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

Astonishment at the boldness of one 
whom she regarded as a menial, almost 
deprived Miss Harvey of the power of 
speech; still there was in the manner of 
the bailiff a conscious rectitude and dig¬ 
nity which, in spite of her anger, impress¬ 
ed her with a feeling of respect. 

“Perhaps you will condescend to tell 
me,” she said with a sneer, “in what way 
my proposal interferes with your duty to 
God, about which you have so much to 
say. I do not ask you to commit any 
public breach of the Sabbath, to make 
scandal among your own sect, only a lit¬ 
tle private transaction of business, which 
can harm no one, however tender his con¬ 
science may be.” 

“Pardon me, madam, if I say that I am 
not allowed to make any such distinctions 
in my obedience to the command, ‘Ke- 
member the Sabbath day to keep it holy . 7 
That commandment is exceeding broad j 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 107 

reaching even to the thoughts of the heart, 
and the God I serve will not accept vain 
excuses for disobeying his holy will.” 

“Let him provide for you then,” said 
Miss Harvey, whose anger could no lon¬ 
ger be controlled; 11 for assuredly I shall 
have no one in my employ who ow r es al¬ 
legiance to any authority higher than my 
own. I will not however treat you as 
you deserve, by dismissing you instantly, 
but will give you time for reflection. If 
you think better of your duty to me, come 
to-morrow to the Lodge, and this obsti¬ 
nacy shall be forgiven; but if you perse¬ 
vere in your absurd notions of duty, you 
may consider yourself dismissed from 
this evening, and I only hope your con¬ 
science will give you as good a support as 
your wages here have done.” 

So saying, with a haughty gesture she 
dismissed the discarded bailiff, who could 
only look silently up to the God he serv- 


108 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

ed, for help and strength in the darkness 
that surrounded him. 

It was impossible, with the small sti¬ 
pend he received, to lay by any thing in 
winter, when fuel was high, and all the 
necessaries of life in proportion; particu¬ 
larly as he had never, like the former 
steward, added to his wages by illegal 
exactions from tenants whose leases had 
expired, or were about to expire. 

“No. matter,” said the good man to 
himself, “there are ravens still on the 
earth, and one of them will be sent to me, 
rather than that I or mine shall be suf¬ 
fered to want for bread.” 

As he reached the house, the unwont¬ 
ed darkness and silence startled him, and 
on entering the inner room, he found the 
family hanging in terror and anxiety over 
the bed where the household pet lay 
parched with fever; and in her delirium 
calling upon the mother and sister, of 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 109 

whose tender cares she was wholly un¬ 
conscious. 

There was evidently great danger, and 
medical aid must be had immediately; 
but how were they to obtain it? The 
nearest physician lived several miles 
away, and the road even by daylight was 
rough and intricate; how could a stran¬ 
ger like Mr. Leigh hope to find it in the 
starless obscurity of night? 

But the precious life of the child was at 
stake, and that thought outweighed all 
others; so the father was making ready 
for his cheerless journey, when there was 
a knock at the door, and on opening it, a 
young man appeared, bending under the 
weight of a large basket sent by farmer 
Goodwin to the family at the cottage. 
The youth in his rustic language announc¬ 
ed himself as Jim Green, the son of their 
kind old friend dame Green, and when 
he heard of the illness of Rose, express- 


110 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

ed his readiness to go at once for the 
physician. Here then was the very mes¬ 
senger required, and with heartfelt thanks, 
Mr. Leigh sent him for the physician, re¬ 
questing his immediate attendance. 

It was a long sad night to the watchers 
by the bedside of the unconscious suffer¬ 
er, who was alternately tossing in fever¬ 
ed delirium, or oppressed by a stupor 
which seemed destroying the very springs 
of life. Towards morning the doctor 
came; a cheerful benevolent looking old 
man, whose pleasant face seemed to An¬ 
nie like a harbinger of good tidings. He 
examined the little patient with great 
care, and then, though he frankly owned 
the case to be critical, he spoke with 
courage and hope of the probable result. 

For some days the conflict between life 
and death so occupied the family, that 
nothing was said by Mr. Leigh of the sad 
change in his own prospects; nor was it 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. Ill 

until Rose had been pronounced out of 
danger, that he informed his wife and 
daughter of his interview with Miss Har¬ 
vey and its consequences. At any other 
time, the news would have been afflicting t 
in the extreme to them; but the darling 
of their hearts was spared, and there was 
room for no other feelings but those of joy 
and gratitude. 

“You have acted like yourself, my hus¬ 
band,” said the wife, while tears filled the 
eyes turned fondly upon him, “and we 
ought to rejoice in the grace given you to 
be faithful in the one talent, as you have 
been in regard to the ten. Since God 
has rescued our precious child from the 
grave that seemed opening to receive her, 
it is surely easy to trust him for food and 
raiment.” 

“ Never had unworthy sinner such 
comforters as God hath given me,” re¬ 
plied the husband. ‘‘Not once, through 


112 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

all our protracted trial, have their faith 
and courage failed. I wonder not that 
the poet calls woman, God’s ‘last best 
gift to man.’ With wife and children at 
my side, me thinks I could face a world 
in arms.” 

The bill for medical attendance was a 
source of some anxiety to the pastor’s 
family, for the good doctor had been un¬ 
remitting in his attentions to his little pa¬ 
tient by night and day, and the illness of 
the child had exhausted their small store 
of money, so that they had no means of 
meeting it. When, upon his next visit, 
the circumstances were made known to 
Dr. Price, with a feeling of embarrass¬ 
ment and pain known only to those who 
have been in a similar situation, the kind 
old man replied with a smile, 

“Give yourself no uneasiness about 
my bill, my friends; this little Rosebud 
has paid it all as we went along. It is 


COTTAGE AMONG THE HILLS. 113 

reward enough to have been the means 
of saying such a charming child add¬ 
ing, as he looked archly at Annie, “be¬ 
sides receiving such eloquent looks of 
gratitude, that were I a young man, they 
would long ago have converted my heart 
to tinder. Seriously, my dear sir, I 
know a little of your history, and though 
far from your way of thinking, I respect 
and honor consistency whenever I am 
so happy as to find it. I would not take 
money for professional services, from a 
man who chooses to adhere to his prin¬ 
ciples rather than his living, any sooner 
than I would cry, ‘Stand and deliver V 
to a traveller on Bagshot Heath.” 

By this and similar interpositions of 
Providence, Mr. Leigh and his family 
were carried through the winter; and 
early in the spring, as nothing else offer¬ 
ed, he accepted the situation of under¬ 
shepherd on one of the estates of Sir 
8 


Ilverton Rectory. 


114 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

Richard Brent, obtained for him through 
the influence of a former parishioner. 

In that humble employment, tending 
his flock on the upland and by the stream, 
in summer’s heat and winter’s cold,, 
might be seen the graduate of Oxford, 
the companion of Pym and Hampden, 
the friend of Cromwell, and more than 
all, the eloquent and devoted preacher, 
on whose lips listening thousands had 
hung in entranced attention during his 
former visits to the metropolis. But he 
was thus enabled to procure food for his 
dependent family, and when at evening 
he returned to the humble home secured 
for them by his daily toil, the fond wel¬ 
come of his faithful wife, the tender smile 
of his cherished Annie, and the playful 
endearments of little Rose, more than 
repaid him for all the privations and 
hardships he endured. 



































































AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 115 


CHAPTER YI. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Two winters had passed away, and a 
second spring returned, with its unwritten 
music, its glad sunshine and wealth of 
flowers; and during all these months 
Annie Leigh had not once heard from 
her absent lover. No allusion was ever 
made in the domestic circle to the brief 
episode in her existence, which had once 
seemed to comprise her all of life. His 
name, that once familiar sound, was never 
repeated, save in the hidden recesses of 
her own heart; and but for the shade of 
sadness resting on her young face when 
she thought herself unobserved, and the 
reveries in which she sometimes indulged, 
he might have been deemed forgotten. 
But 


116 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

“ The heart that has truly loved never forgets,” 

unless torn from its hold by the unwor¬ 
thiness of its object; and a nature so 
tender and true as that of Annie, was 
not one to recall its affections lightly, 
even though they had been freely sacri¬ 
ficed on the altar of duty. 

One day towards the close of April, 
old Margery, who had been away for 
some hours, returned just at evening, 
and meeting the sisters, began to unfold 
the budget of news with which she was 
laden. 

“Dame Jones says there’s wonderful 
doings over yonder at the great house, 
some kind of a park, I think they call it. 
The lord and lady have come back from 
foreign parts, and sights of fine folks 
with ’em, dressed up like so many pea¬ 
cocks. And, Miss Annie, the nice young 
man who used to come so often to our 
house at Ilverton—” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. lit 

“Oh, my own dear Mr. Clarence,” in- 
terrupted Rose, clapping her hands; 
“ what of him, nurse ?” 

“Nothing bad, only that he has come 
too, and a lady with him as beautiful as 
the day, to whom they say he is going to 
be married.” 

“Oh, I 7 m so sorry he’s going to be 
married; are n’t you, sister?” 

Poor Annie could not reply, but Mar¬ 
gery answered, 

“Why, little missy, you never say 
any thing about him, and I thought as 
how you’d forgotten him like all the 
rest,” looking reproachfully at Annie; for 
Clarence had been a special favorite with 
the old nurse from his first appearance 
at the rectory. 

“I haven’t forgotten him at all,” said 
Rose indignantly, “only nobody ever 
wanted me to talk about him, and so I 
didn’t; but I love him, next to papa and 


118 1LVERT0N EECTOKY. 

mamma and sister, best of all, and I 
always shall. Would n’t you, sister?” 

It was fortunate for Annie that the 
gathering shades of evening concealed 
her features from the keen eyes fastened 
upon them; but she felt that the power 
of self-control was fast deserting her, and 
hurried Rose into the house, where for¬ 
tunately her attention was attracted in 
another direction, so that the dreaded 
subject was not again brought forward. 

May-day came, as bright and sunny as 
even mirth could desire; but the heart 
of Annie turned away sadly from its 
beauty, for the contrast between this and 
the well-remembered May-day two years 
before, pressed upon her with a weight of 
sweet and bitter memories that caused 
every nerve to vibrate with a thrill of 
anguish. Then she had wandered with 
a troop of gay maidens, herself as joyous 
as they, through the glades of the forest 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 119 

in search of wild flowers; there she had 
met one now lost to her for ever, who 
told her his love, and won from her the 
blushing confession that it was returned, 
while the hours flew by unheeded in the 
bliss of that perfect sympathy. 

Then her parents were happy in the 
enjoyment of all that could make life 
desirable, the guides and benefactors of 
a people who regarded them with un¬ 
bounded affection, and the centre of a 
social circle in which the refinements of 
polished life were united with the sim¬ 
plicity and sincerity of Christian princi¬ 
ple. Now what was their condition? 
The father, of whom she was justly proud, 
a servant of servants, whose severe and 
incessant labor barely sufficed to procure 
for those dependent upon him the neces¬ 
saries of life; her gentle mother, trained 
in the lap of ease and affluence, per¬ 
forming daily the most menial offices 


120 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

without a murmur; and for herself, was 
not the very light of life quenched for 
ever in her breast by the blow which 
had separated her from the chosen of 
her heart ? 

As these thoughts came thronging upon 
her, the young girl groaned aloud in bit¬ 
terness of spirit; but she had not now to 
learn where to look for strength in time 
of need; and as she knelt before the 
mercy-seat, words of hope and consola¬ 
tion seemed whispered to her by angel 
visitants, which chased away the gloom, 
and filled her soul with peace and trust. 
Long she communed with her own soul 
and her God; and when at length she 
joined the dear group below, it was al¬ 
most with the radiant smile of other days 
that she returned their greetings. 

“ Sister,” said little Rose at the close 
of their frugal repast, “you have prom¬ 
ised ever so long to go with me to the 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 121 

‘Fairies’ Fountain;’ do please go to-day. 
This is May-day, you know, and we ought 
to do something nice on May-day.” 

“Go, my love,” said the mother in an¬ 
swer to Annie’s look of inquiry. “You 
can well be spared from household duties, 
and the walk will be a, benefit to you 
both.” 

The two sisters started cheerfully away 
hand in hand across green meadows and 
copses gay with May flowers, through 
“bushy bourne and bosky dell,” to the 
clear mountain-spring called from time 
immemorial “the Fairies’ Fountain.” 
Rose was in raptures with every thing 
she saw, and Annie felt the quiet beauty 
of the scene stealing into her heart and 
filling it with a sweet sense of enjoyment. 

They made cups and baskets of the 
inner bark of the smooth birch, which 
Rose filled with acorns and delicate bits 
of green and white moss; after which 


122 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

they gathered quantities of the beautiful 
trailing arbutus, to carry home as a me¬ 
morial of the day’s enjoyment. It was 
with regret that, warned by the length¬ 
ening shadows of the flight of time, the 
sisters prepared to leave a spot which, to 
one of them at 1-east, had seemed so sweet 
a refuge from the cares and sorrows of 
life. 

The way home was solitary and unfre¬ 
quented, and on reaching the lonely cot¬ 
tage of old dame Green, Bose complained 
of weariness, and begged so earnestly to 
go in and see the good woman for a few 
moments, that Annie consented, promis¬ 
ing to wait for her in the adjoining lane. 
She had been alone but a short time, 
when the sound of approaching footsteps 
made her heart beat quickly, but at the 
same time a deep rich voice met her ear, 
and at the sound of those well-remem¬ 
bered tones, unheard so long, an invol- 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 128 

untary exclamation escaped her, which 
rendered the recognition mutual. “ Be¬ 
loved Annie !” “ Dear Clarence!” was all 
that at first they could utter, and in the 
happy forgetfulness of the moment she 
suffered herself to be drawn fondly to 
the heart of her lover, and addressed by 
every endearing name that affection could 
suggest. But recollection came too soon, 
and withdrawing herself from that dear 
embrace, she murmured, \ 

“It surely cannot be reality; how is 
it that you are here, dear Clarence ?” 

“ I was making my way over the fields 
to your home, my Annie, when, thanks 
to Osric,” patting the neck of his splen¬ 
did Arabian, “who refused to cross 
the moor, very unreasonably as I then 
thought, I was compelled to take this 
direction* What do I not owe him for 
the unspeakable happiness of this meet¬ 
ing! But you are pale, dearest; your 


124 ILVERT0N RECTORY. 

eyes turn sadly away from mine; you 
do not share my joy. Is this the wel¬ 
come you promised me on my return 
after so long an absence ?” 

“Alas, Clarence, there have been 
many and sad changes since that happy 
time. A gulf has opened between us 
which cannot be passed.” 

“What do your words mean, Annie? 
They chill my very blood. There is but 
one thing which can open a gulf between 
us; and if you have indeed forgotten me, 
and learned to love another—” 

“Do not imagine such a thing, Clar¬ 
ence, even for a moment. My heart has 
known no change; but have you not 
heard of what has taken place at Ilver- 
ton since your departure ?” 

“I have heard it all, immediately on 
my arrival in England, and heard it with 
grief and indignation unutterable. But 
surely, my own Annie, these things can 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 125 

make no difference in our relations to 
each other. You are, if possible, dearer 
to me in sorrow than in prosperity; and 
for all that you have suffered, if love 
the most faithful and untiring can make 
amends, my life shall henceforth be de¬ 
voted to the care of your happiness.” 

It was hard, with that voice of thrill¬ 
ing tenderness penetrating to the very 
centre of her being, for the young girl to 
turn away from the enchanting prospect 
thus placed before her, and with her own 
hand to crush out the brightest hope of 
her existence. But a sense of duty tri¬ 
umphed, and her eye was clear and 
bright, and her tones, though low, were 
firm, as she answered, 

“I have already listened too long to 
these dangerous words, which can only 
torture my heart, but must not shake my 
resolution. I erred at first in suffering 
you to speak to me of love, and griev- 


126 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

ously have I been punished for my fault. 
Henceforth, dear Clarence, our paths are 
utterly distinct, for there can be nothing 
in common between the heir and hope of 
a noble house and the daughter of a poor 
shepherd on his father’s, estate.” 

“Out on these ridiculous, unjust dis¬ 
tinctions. You know, dearest, when you 
call your noble father a shepherd only, 
you do him foul wrong. He is to me 
the peer of princes; and for yourself, the 
proudest coronet in the land could not 
give additional lustre to that lovely 
brow.” 

“The barrier of rank and station is 
not the only one existing between us. 
Our religion, our faith, our hopes for 
eternity, all differ. Nay, Clarence, I 
fear you do not worship the same Being 
I have been taught to revere. Dazzled 
by the brightness of the vision of happi¬ 
ness which dawned upon me, I forgot 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 127 

this; but the remembrance has been 
forced upon me, and I dare not over¬ 
look it again. It is your duty to forget 
me, or to think of me only as a friend 
whose latest breath will be a prayer for 
your happiness.’ 7 

With great difficulty the young man 
had restrained himself while his compan¬ 
ion was speaking; but when she paused, 
overcome by her emotions, he passion¬ 
ately exclaimed, 

“G-ive you up! learn to forget you, or 
to think of you only as a friend! Never, 
Annie; by all my hopes of happiness here 
and hereafter, never. You are mine by 
your own confession—by the voice of God 
speaking within us, which proclaimed our 
souls one; mine as truly as if the vows 
which were registered in heaven had been 
uttered in the presence of assembled 
thousands. I have learned from my 
tutor, one of the best of men, to examine 


128 ILVERTON RECTOEY. 

for myself the points on which you and 
I differed, and the result has been a firm 
conviction that the Puritans are the only 
true friends of liberty in this distracted 
country. I do not profess to feel as you 
clo, my Annie, but I honor and admire 
your faith and practice; and if ever pow¬ 
er and influence are mine, both shall be 
exerted to the utmost to secure equal tol¬ 
eration for all men. The time will come 
when I can show your father, by some¬ 
thing better than words, how truly I love 
and reverence him; and in the meantime, 
give me the legal right to protect you: 
let me claim this dear hand before the 
world, and the sorrows that have so op¬ 
pressed you shall vanish like a dream of 
the night.” 

“But your father, your mother,” said 
the agitated girl, “have you forgotten 
them ?” 

“It is true, dear Annie, for I will con- 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 129 

ceal nothing from you, that my mother is 
proud and haughty, and would probably 
oppose my wishes, but I think she loves 
her son, and when she finds that my hap¬ 
piness is at stake, she must yield, or—” 
“Say no more, dear Clarence,” inter¬ 
rupted Annie; “such words are worse 
than useless. Full well do you know that 
Sir Richard and Lady Brent would never 
consent to such a union; and I also am 
assured that with this fact before his eyes, 
my dear father would oppose it with equal 
determination. There is indeed no hope 
for us on earth. G-od hath severed our 
destinies, and henceforth we must be 
strangers, since to meet again would only 
bring increased misery on both.” 

“ Cruel, unfeeling girl! you have never 
truly loved, and seek now to veil your 
indifference under this wretched subter¬ 
fuge. You talk of severing ties which 
are woven about my very heartstrings, 
9 


Ilvrton Rectory. 


130 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

as coolly as if you were planning some 
scheme of pleasure, and then fancy it 
meritorious to disregard my agony. Is 
this the return to which I have looked 
forward so eagerly; this the reward for 
which I have waited and watched with 
unchanging affection ?” 

“May God forgive you, dear Clarence, 
as I do, for these cruel and unjust words. 
If to know that my whole heart is yours, 
never, never to feel another love—that 
in this bitter separation, I have suffered, 
and am still suffering pangs worse than 
those of death: if this is consolation, take 
it, for I have nothing else to offer. But 
do not let our last sad parting be imbit- 
tered by words of unkindness. We have 
enough already to bear, and it needs not 
this to make the memory of the past suf¬ 
ficiently bitter.” 

“Forgive me, dearest, for the unman¬ 
ly violence of my words. I know I am 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 131 

unworthy of your love, but since such a 
treasure is mine, think not that I shall 
tamely relinquish it. Think not this part¬ 
ing is our last. If my life is spared we shall 
meet again, and under happier auspices. 
Farewell/ 7 he exclaimed, vaulting into the 
saddle, “only till I can make good my 
claim in the sight of God and man. 77 

The confidence expressed in these 
words, in spite of herself, penetrated the 
heart of the young girl, and awakened 
there hopes which she thought dead, as 
with Rose she hastened homeward, after 
this agitating interview. The story was 
related to her mother, whose sympathy 
and counsel had so often cheered her in 
perplexity; and as she sought her pillow 
that night, Annie felt that whatever trials 
might be in store for her, the assurance 
of the continued affection of Clarence, was 
a solace which made every burden seem 
light. 


182 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

Strange to say, she had not once dur¬ 
ing her conversation with him, remem¬ 
bered old Margery’s story of the pre¬ 
ceding evening, deeply as it had then 
affected her. It was impossible to look 
on the ingenuous face of the young 
man, or to meet his clear, truthful eye, 
and not to feel that treachery or deceit 
could never find a place in his breast. 
Without one word on the subject on 
either side, the report was utterly dis¬ 
proved by every look and tone, and An¬ 
nie would as soon have doubted her own 
existence, as the perfect faith of him she 
loved. 

At the close of the interview we have 
described, Clarence Brent rode rapidly 
home, and on reaching the house, went 
at once to the apartment of his .mother, 
whom he found seated before a cheval- 
glass, under the hands of her tiring wom¬ 
an, who was dressing her hair for the 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 133 

evening. As her son entered, she bowed 
coldly, saying, 

“ Your ride has been somewhat of the 
longest, my son; but where have you left 
yonr party? where is Lady Alicia ?” 

“ In truth, my mother, I know not, as 
I have not the honor of being her lady¬ 
ship’s keeper. Possibly Captain Dela- 
mere may be better informed on the sub¬ 
ject.” 

“Is it possible that Clarence Brent 
can stoop to be jealous, and of a man 
like Delamere ?” 

“Not so, my mother, there is no such 
feeling in my heart. Jealousy and indif¬ 
ference never go together, and the move¬ 
ments of Lady Alicia Somers have no 
more interest for me than those of her 
French waiting-maid. But I have ven¬ 
tured to intrude upon you to request the 
favor of a private interview. Will it 
please you to dismiss your tiring woman 


134 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

for a short time, as what I have to say 
concerns yonr ear alone ?” 

“What new whim is this, Clarence? 
Something very absurd, I dare say; but, 
Winter, you may retire, only remain 
within call, as my toilette is not yet 
made, and the hour of the evening meal 
approaches.” 

When they were alone, Clarence seat¬ 
ed himself on a tabouret at his mother’s 
side, and taking the jewelled hand, which 
gave back no answering pressure, he said, 

“ My mother, I am sure you love your 
son, good for nothing though he may be: 
will you not listen as patiently and in¬ 
dulgently as possible to what I have to 
say ?” 

Few mothers could have resisted the 
pleading look and tone of such a son; 
but Lady Brent was cased in an armor 
of pride which rendered her invulnera¬ 
ble, so she quietly withdrew her hand 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 135 

from his clasp and settled her rings as 
she replied, 

“ From such an opening, I am confident 
that something very unreasonable is to 
follow: but go on; I will hear you with 
what patience I may.” 

“ I have told your ladyship that I can¬ 
not marry the woman you have selected 
for my wife, for the good reason that I 
do not, and never shall, love her; but I 
have not informed you of the fact that 
I love another with my whole soul, to 
whom I am pledged by every tie that 
can bind an honorable man.” 

There certainly was no lack of interest 
in the manner of Lady Brent as she heard 
this announcement. She started forward 
in her chair, the blood rushed to her brow, 
and her hands were clasped and unclasp¬ 
ed in nervous agitation as she exclaimed, 

“ And you dare to tell me this! You, 
the hope of an ancient house, the heir of 


136 ILVEET0N KECTOEY. 

one of the finest estates in England, who 
might without vanity aspire to the hand 
of an earl’s daughter; you shamelessly 
avow your love for some low creature 
who has practised on your weakness and 
laughs at your credulity!” 

“Mother,” said Clarence, as he rose 
and stood before Lady Brent with flash¬ 
ing eyes, “ not even from you will I listen 
to such words concerning one of the best 
and purest of God’s creatures. You know 
nothing of whom you speak; and though 
I would not willingly grieve or disobey 
you, yet rest assured that my determina¬ 
tion is unalterable. I am a man, with a 
man’s strong feelings and purposes, and 
if there is to be peace between us, even 
you, my mother, must respect my feel¬ 
ings sufficiently to avoid heaping insult 
on those dear to me.” 

This was an exhibition of character 
which the mother had never before seen 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 137 

in her son, and for which she was wholly 
unprepared. She had always ruled her 
household by the force of an iron will 
which would brook no opposition ; and 
to meet it now, on such a subject, and 
from one on whom she had looked as 
an indolent, careless youth, with little 
strength of character, this was a trial 
which for the moment unnerved her; 
but she soon rallied, and replied in tones 
which trembled with anger, 

“ You do well to threaten a lady, and 
that lady your mother. Doubtless this 
is one of the accomplishments you have 
learned from your new friends. I do not 
ask or care to know who it is that has 
caused you to forget your natural ties 
and obligations; it is enough that you 
have so carefully concealed your love, 
to convict you of having chosen unwor¬ 
thily. Nay, do not reply; nothing you 
can say will alter my resolution on this 


138 ILVERT0N RECTORY. 

subject. You can choose between the 
parents to whom you owe every thing, 
and this unknown object of love; for one 
or the other must be relinquished. You 
have thus far in life been suffered to take 
your own way, because nothing of special 
interest hung on your decision; but when 
your choice concerns the honor and con¬ 
tinuance of a noble house, it is time that 
you should listen to the voice of parental 
authority, according to the law of God 
and of the land. I have spoken calmly, 
because I can make allowance for your 
youth and inexperience; but you will 
find that the decree of the Medes and 
Persians was not more unalterable than 
my decision. You can now go, as I have 
to prepare for the evening.” 

During this cold and cruel speech, Clar¬ 
ence had been walking the room, but as 
his mother ceased speaking, he came and 
stood proudly erect before her, saying, 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 139 

“ You are my mother, therefore I will 
not attempt to answer your remarks; but 
rest assured of one thing, my heart and 
hand are my own, sacredly and inalien¬ 
ably my own, to dispose of as I see fit; 
and though my action on this subject 
may be delayed in deference to your 
prejudices, it will never be relinquished.” 

So saying, he left the room; while his 
mother, with a bitter smile, murmured, 

“He is a true Brent, self-willed and 
headstrong, but I greatly mistake if I do 
not find means to tame him yet.” 


140 


ILVERTON RECTORY. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE VISIT TO BROMLEY- 

In the earlier years of her married 
life, Mrs. Leigh had several times visited 
an aunt, the sister of her mother, who 
resided in the north of England, on a 
handsome estate near Bromley. Mes¬ 
sages of affection and more substantial 
tokens of remembrance, in the form of 
hampers of game, fruit, etc., and some¬ 
times haunches of venison, came often to 
the rectory from the childless widow; but 
since leaving Ilverton, nothing had been 
heard from her. Mrs. Leigh regretted 
this the more, as she had few relatives 
remaining, and the character of Mrs. 
Graves rendered her an object of esteem 
and affection to all who were favored 
with her friendship. 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 141 

Left a widow while still comparatively 
young, she took upon herself the sole 
management of her property, and by 
her industry, energy, and economy, had 
greatly enlarged and improved it, thus 
adding to her means of doing good, of 
which she availed herself to the utmost ex¬ 
tent. Her large and well-ordered house 
was a home for the poor and needy, and 
many a Non-conformist pastor had rea¬ 
son to bless the Lord for such a place of 
refuge in the dark days that followed 
black Bartholomew. She had lost sight 
of the family at liver ton for some months 
after Mr. Leigh’s ejectment, for in those 
days cheap mails were unknown, and 
news travelled but slowly over the realm, 
until, through a casual meeting with a 
mutual friend, she heard the story of their 
constancy and suffering. Her heart was 
deeply moved, and a letter was sent by 
her at once, enclosing a sum of money 


142 ILVERTON RECTORY, 

for their immediate use, and containing 
a request that Annie might be permitted 
to visit Bromley, and remain as long as 
she could be spared from home. 

“I am growing old,” the letter said, 
“ and need the company of the young to 
keep my heart from becoming cold and 
withered. From what I hear, your child 
is good and dutiful, and has the fear of 
God before her eyes. She is therefore 
just what I want. My husband’s prop¬ 
erty is strictly entailed on his own fam¬ 
ily, but I have a sufficiency of this world’s 
goods for my own needs and those of my 
friends, and your Annie shall be unto me 
what a daughter would have been, had it 
pleased the Lord to give me such a treas¬ 
ure. A good and worthy man by the 
name of Kelso, who with his wife is com¬ 
ing to superintend the dairy upon my 
farm, will take charge of the child and 
bring her to me safely.” 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 143 

This letter was read by the pastor and 
his wife with mingled emotions of pleas¬ 
ure and pain. To part with their be¬ 
loved Annie for months was a trial of no 
ordinary magnitude, when so few sources 
of pleasure remained to them; but there 
were reasons which rendered the step 
very desirable under present circum¬ 
stances. 

It would separate her from Clarence 
Brent, whose residence in the vicinity 
was a constant source of suffering, though 
it could not shake her resolution, or tempt 
her to swerve from the path of duty. 
By Annie herself the visit would have 
been anticipated with delight, but for the 
thought of leaving her parents to bear 
alone the trials and privations of their 
daily lot. This objection was speedily 
set aside by parental love, and the jour¬ 
ney once decided upon, the necessary 
arrangements were soon made, and in 


144 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

company with a kind friend she left home 
for the nearest market-town, where she 
was to join Mr. and Mrs. Kelso. 

They were elderly, respectable people, 
members of an Independent church at 
Islington, and Annie felt certain, in plac¬ 
ing herself under their protection, that 
she should be kindly cared for on the 
way. The party journeyed in the mail- 
coach, and several days were spent upon 
the road, so that when they reached 
Bromley, Annie, who was unaccustomed 
to travel, was nearly worn out with fa¬ 
tigue and want of sleep. 

This was all forgotten, however, when 
she first caught sight, through a stately 
avenue of trees, of the ancient looking 
building which for the present was to be 
her home. The gravel walks and velvet 
turf about the premises were in perfect 
order, and some attempts at ornament 
were' visible in the borders, gay with 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 145 

phlox, lupines, marigolds, and lychnis, 
among which not a weed dared intrude. 

As Annie entered the wide hall ex¬ 
tending through the house, she was met 
by a bright, cheerful looking old lady, 
with a face full of kindness, who saluted 
her affectionately, bidding her welcome 
to Bromley, and then ushered her into 
the family sitting-room, at the same time 
calling for Hannah to come and take 
charge of the stranger. 

Hannah was a stout Welsh woman, 
with red hair cropped quite closely; a 
freckled face on which good sense and 
strong character were legibly stamped; 
and an odd mixture of rudeness and re¬ 
spect in her manner, the first resulting 
from neglect in childhood, the other from 
real kindness of heart. She was the ex¬ 
ecutive officer of the household; prompt 
and resolute in action, carrying out to 
the letter, all the plans of her mistress, 
10 


Tiverton Rectory. 


146 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

whose love of peace led her to shrink 
from the consequences of insisting upon 
them in her own person. 

When this woman entered the room, 
she stood for some moments gazing at the 
new-comer, as if deciding upon her mer¬ 
its, then nodding her head significantly, 
she said to Mrs. Graves in an audible 
whisper, “She ’ll do, I reckon!” and then 
requested Annie, who could hardly con¬ 
trol her features, to follow her up stairs. 
She was taken to a large and pleasant 
chamber overlooking the orchard, with 
wall paper of light blue, and furniture of 
the same color. The room looked so cool 
and neat, so much like the quiet resting- 
place she needed, that the weary travel-^ 
ler uttered an exclamation of delight as 
she entered it, to which Hannah replied 
with a grim smile, 

“Yes, I knew you’d like it. I got the 
yellow room ready for you before you 


THE VISIT TO BEOMLEY. 147 

came, but as soon as I set eyes on you, I 
says to myself, she shall have the blue 
room, for the best isn’t too good for such 
as her.” 

“I thank you for your good opinion, but 
any room would satisfy me, and I should 
be sorry not to occupy the one chosen by 
my aunt for me.” 

“Lackaday, child, your aunt don’t 
know nor care any more than a baby 
what room you have, or whether you 
have one or a dozen. She says to me, 
‘Hannah, I depend on you to make my 
niece comfortable,’ and that’s just what 
I’m going to do; so you need n’t trouble 
your pretty head about it any way. ’Tis 
not often we have any thing in these old 
walls worth looking at; and when we 
have, I shall take good care of it, I prom¬ 
ise you.” 

Mrs. G-raves was a woman of sense and 
penetration, and she soon saw that her 


148 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

young guest was suffering from weariness 
both of mind and body, the consequence 
of reaction from the continual tension of 
thought and feeling to which for months 
she had been subjected. The first requi¬ 
site clearly was rest, the second, change, 
and the kind old lady resolved she should 
enjoy both to the utmost extent. Annie 
would gladly have made herself useful at 
once, but to her surprise, when the pres¬ 
sure of care was removed, she found her¬ 
self so languid, that exertion seemed im¬ 
possible, and she was compelled to allow 
Mrs. Graves and Hannah to pet and wait 
upon her, from mere inability to resist 
their kindness. 

It was not long, under such a regimen, 
before health and strength came back 
again; and then, on a Welsh pony pro¬ 
vided by her aunt for the purpose, she 
took long rides over the hills and among 
the dales, often, with her Bible and a bas- 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 149 

ket of delicacies, visiting the sick and 
aged, wlio were accustomed to watch for 
the coming of the brown pony and its fair 
rider, as the most important event of the 
week to them. 

Annie had been at Bromley three weeks 
before she was able to attend the parish 
church, and to her frequent inquiries con¬ 
cerning the incumbent of the living, her 
aunt had never made any definite reply. 
She only knew that he was one of the few 
who were induced to subscribe, and thus 
retained his place; and was surprised to 
see, instead of the elderly rector whom 
she had pictured to herself, a young man 
ascending the pulpit stairs, who looked 
almost boyish, from the profusion of light 
hair falling about his face, which he wore 
long, according to the court fashion of the 
age. His manner was solemn, and the 
sermon unexceptionable in matter, and 
yet Annie was sensible of a deficiency 


150 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

somewhere, which she could not under¬ 
stand. 

On returning home, she spoke of this 
impression to her aunt, who answered 
with a sigh, 

“Mr. Prescott was one of the clergy¬ 
men who by conformity was enabled to 
preserve his living. His mother and a 
maiden sister live with him at the recto¬ 
ry, and would have been turned home¬ 
less upon the world by his non-conform¬ 
ity. Doubtless he felt that he was act¬ 
ing rightly, and I would not judge him 
harshly, though from the fact that he 
was a pupil of the good Dr. Bates, I ex¬ 
pected a different course from him. To 
his own Master he must stand or fall, 
and I would not even in thought con¬ 
demn him.” 

“No indeed,” said Hannah afterwards, 
“my mistress is too soft-hearted to con¬ 
demn any thing that breathes; but I ? m 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 151 

not one of the tender-hearted kind, and 
I’d rather be Mr. Grant with his old 
coat and empty stomach, than onr Mr. 
Prescott with lands and living.” 

Annie’s thoughts were with her own 
dear father as she answered, 

“I feel about it as you do, Hannah, and 
yet there may be circumstances of which 
none but God can judge; and in this 
case, who can tell what temptations were 
brought to bear upon him.” 

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing to 
have charity, but all the charity in the 
world, wouldn’t make me believe that 
the chokecherries on that tree are as good 
as the sweet oxhearts in the orchard yon¬ 
der, or that the tree is as good, only some¬ 
thing happened to make it bear the wrong 
kind of fruit.” 

A few days after this conversation, 
Annie met the young clergyman at the 
bedside of a sick woman whom she visit- 


152 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

-ed weekly; and from that time she en¬ 
countered him so frequently in her rides 
and walks, that it was impossible to be¬ 
lieve the meetings casual on his part. 
He even came to the farm-house, where 
he had never before visited, well know¬ 
ing that by both mistress and maid, his 
course was regarded with disapproba¬ 
tion. 

The poor people wondered at the change 
that had come over their minister, when 
they found him visiting the sick and aged 
so much more frequently than formerly; 
while Annie, fearing she knew not what, 
confined herself to the house, or changed 
her hours for riding and walking, in the 
hope of avoiding him. 

One afternoon when she had gone out 
for her aunt, being overtaken by a show¬ 
er, she took refuge in a cottage near by ; 
and finding the good woman out, was 
amusing herself with the children, when 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 153 

Mr. Prescott came in, like herself seek¬ 
ing shelter from the storm. Annie would 
gladly have left the house, but the rain 
was falling in torrents, and she was oblig¬ 
ed to wait until the boy whom she had 
sent to the farm-house, could return with 
an umbrella and pattens, to enable her 
to reach home. She rose and walked to 
the little casement, looking out for a few 
moments, then resuming her seat, busied 
herself with the children; but Mr. Pres¬ 
cott was resolved not to lose so favorable 
an opportunity, and sending the children 
to their play in the corner of the room, 
said hastily, 

“Miss Leigh, may I beg the favor of 
saying a few words to you on a subject 
which to me is of great importance ? It 
may be vanity in me to suppose myself 
in any way the object of thought to one 
like yourself; and yet I fear that, like 
others, you may have judged hardly of 


154 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

the course I have pursued in reference 
to conformity.” 

Annie was inexpressibly relieved at 
the turn the conversation had taken, and 
replied gently, 

“ Indeed, sir, I have felt no disposi¬ 
tion to judge or condemn you. Each one 
must answer for himself at a higher tri¬ 
bunal than that of man; and if your own 
conscience acquits you, who am I that I 
should presume to sit in judgment on a 
fellow-creature ?” 

While she was speaking, the counte¬ 
nance of the young minister was pale and 
red by turns, and as she closed, he said 
in a hurried voice, 

“I do not profess to have the entire 
acquittal of my conscience. There are 
times when I fear that I have done 
wrong; but all I can say is, I acted for 
what I then thought the best for myself 
and those dependent upon me. Others, 


THE VISIT TO BEOMLEY. 155 

wiser than I, have thought it right to 
subscribe, ancl certainly we are com¬ 
manded to obey the powers that be, 
which are ordained of God.” 

“I have neither the wish nor ability 
to argue this point with you, Mr. Pres¬ 
cott, but you must be aware that the 
daughter of an ejected pastor can have 
nothing in common with such sentiments 
as these. I would rather call myself 
the daughter of Samuel Leigh the non¬ 
conformist, than trace my descent from 
kings,” she said with an energy which 
made her cheeks glow and her eyes spar¬ 
kle like diamonds. 

Mr. Prescott had risen, and was look¬ 
ing with undisguised admiration on the 
fair girl while she spoke, and as she 
ceased, he replied in a tone of deep feel¬ 
ing, 

“I reverence and admire your senti¬ 
ments more than I can express, Miss 


156 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

Leigh, though they may seem to bear 
severely on my own course. Believe me, 
I can appreciate the excellence I may 
not have the moral power to imitate.” 

“ I have heard my dear father say,” 
was the reply, “that the pastors who 
have been able to remain with their 
flocks in this evil time, have a double 
responsibility resting upon them to de¬ 
clare faithfully the whole counsel of God, 
since the mouths of so many have been 
stopped. In this way, even if they have 
erred in judgment, their mistake may be 
overruled by Him who can bring good 
out of evil, and cause even the wrath of 
man to praise him. But pardon me, sir, 
I had no intention of seeming to teach 
you.” 

“Make no apology, my dear young 
lady ; a higher voice than that of man 
has spoken to me through you; and 
whatever the result may be, I thank 


THE VISIT TO BROMLEY. 157 

you for the Christian faithfulness which 
prompted your words. If they do not 
make me a better minister than I have 
been, my guilt will be great. May I 
hope for permission to call upon you at 
the house of your aunt?” 

Annie was troubled, and knew not 
what to say, but she murmured some¬ 
thing about her aunt’s hospitality to all; 
and then, as the rain was over, bade him 
good-evening and returned home, feeling 
that if the rector of Bromley had judged 
differently from those she loved best in 
the matter of conformity, he had erred, 
if at all, rather from lack of moral cour¬ 
age, than from the want of religious prin¬ 
ciple. 

Only a few days had elapsed ere Mr. 
Prescott came to the farm-house, and his 
visits were repeated until Annie could 
no longer be blind to the fact, that her 
presence constituted the attraction which 


158 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

drew him hither. The knowledge was 
very unwelcome, and in spite of herself 
her manner became so cold and con¬ 
strained, that the young man resolved 
to bring matters to an issue. He ac¬ 
cordingly availed himself of the first op¬ 
portunity offered by the absence of Mrs. 
G-raves from the room, on one of his vis¬ 
its, to make known his feelings and wishes; 
saying in conclusion, 

“I have waited from day to day be¬ 
cause of my deep conviction of unworthi¬ 
ness to possess such a treasure, but I can 
wait no longer. I must know my fate 
from your own lips. If you can return 
my affection, I shall be the happiest of 
men; if not, the consolation will at least 
be mine, that I have loved the best and 
noblest of women.” 

Deeply moved by his evident sinceri¬ 
ty, Annie kindly but decidedly declined 
his proposals, feeling keenly the pain she 


THE VISIT TO BKOMLEY. 159 

was compelled to inflict, for she had none 
of that contemptible vanity which de¬ 
lights in conquest for its own sake, and 
would number its victims by hecatombs, 
rather than doubt its own power to 
charm. 

From that time, during her stay at 
Bromley, Annie saw the rector only in 
the pulpit; but it was remarked by all 
who heard him, that his ministrations 
there were more spiritual, and his atten¬ 
tion to the poor and needy among the 
people of his charge more constant than 
ever before. Mrs. Graves rejoiced in 
the change, and felt that the brief ac¬ 
quaintance, which had terminated so 
painfully, might in the end prove a bless¬ 
ing both to pastor and people. 

The winter passed happily and swiftly 
away, every month bringing a letter from 
the cottage to the absent one full of love 
and hope; but no word from Clarence 


160 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

had ever reached her since her depart¬ 
ure from home. It was best, since they 
were separated hopelessly, that the cur¬ 
tain of oblivion should fall between them. 
She knew this, and tried to feel it, though 
the yearnings of heart for some tidings 
of the beloved one could not always be 
controlled; but Annie had long since 
found that, next to prayer, useful occu¬ 
pation of mind and body was the most 
effectual method of banishing useless re¬ 
grets and restoring the spirits to a health¬ 
ful tone. She was therefore always em¬ 
ployed—the “busy bee” of the family, 
as her aunt fondly called her, secretly 
thinking how dark the old house would 
seem when deprived of her presence and 
smiles. 

That time, to her surprise and sorrow, 
was just at hand. Early in April, Mr. 
Leigh arrived at Bromley, looking like 
his former self, in clerical attire, and 


THE VISIT TO BKOMLEY. 161 

with an aspect of cheerfulness which he 
had not worn for years. He had come 
for his child, and in answer to the won¬ 
dering inquiries of Mrs. Graves and An¬ 
nie, related a story of the goodness of 
God, which must be reserved for an¬ 
other chapter. 

In a few days the young girl left Brom¬ 
ley, followed by the prayers and bless¬ 
ings not only of the family at the farm¬ 
house, but of the aged and infirm,' at 
whose humble cottages her visits had 
been welcomed with tears of thankful¬ 
ness. 

“It's the living truth, mistress,” said 
Hannah, wiping her eyes with her apron, 
“ that I never thought to care for mortal 
creature as I do for that blessed child. 
It's my belief that she hasn’t got as 
much human natur about her as other 
folks have, for she always thinks of ev¬ 
erybody before herself.” 

Ilverton Rectory. 11 


162 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

“Ah, there is the secret, Hannah,” 
replied her mistress; “our dear Annie 
has learned at the feet of the Saviour to 
live for the good of others; and while 
she is seeking the happiness of all around 
her, I make no doubt her own will come 
to her unsought.” 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 163 


CHAPTER YIII. 

THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 

The toil and exposure to which Mr. 
Leigh had for many months been subject¬ 
ed, were beginning to manifest their usual 
effects upon his constitution, which had 
never been inured to labor or fatigue. 
His form, once erect and stately, was 
now slightly bent, his raven locks were 
thickly sprinkled with grey, and his clear 
hazel eyes told at times a tale of weari¬ 
ness and depression which touched the 
heart of his faithful wife far more than all 
her own privations and sorrows. Not 
that the ejected pastor had lost faith or 
courage, or that he regretted his action 
in the past. 

Never for one moment had he faltered 
in the course he then thought it right to 


164 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

take, but the stoutest heart has its sea¬ 
sons of discouragement, and Mr. Leigh 
was only a man, subject to infirmities 
like others. The sacrifices made for 
conscience’ sake were not the less felt to 
be sacrifices, because cheerfully offered at 
the bidding of a moral necessity; and he 
could not look on his beloved wife in her 
present condition without a sharp pang. 
To add to his sorrow, his companion and 
comforter, who had always a smile and 
cheering word for him, was away, and 
he missed her more every day as the 
vacant seat at the table and by the fire¬ 
side spoke eloquently of her absence. 

He was returning home one evening 
more than usually depressed, and in¬ 
wardly praying for strength from on high, 
when he was met by Jim Green, the son 
of his good old friend, who was the bearer 
of a message from farmer Goodwin, re¬ 
questing Mr. Leigh to come instantly to 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 165 

the Grange, as the farmer had been seri¬ 
ously injured by an accident, and was in 
great danger. The pastor mounted the 
horse which had been sent for that pur¬ 
pose, and having despatched young Green 
to inform his wife of the circumstance, 
went at once to the Grange. He found 
the farmer suffering greatly, but the bro¬ 
ken limb had been set, and his symptoms 
were more favorable, as it was now hoped 
that no internal injuries had been sus¬ 
tained. When the surgeon had left, the 
sick man requested Mr. Leigh to take a 
chair by his side, and said to him with 
great earnestness, 

“I sent for you because in my soul I 
believe you are a good man, and heaven 
knows I have need enough of such about 
me.” 

He groaned as he said this, and Mr. 
Leigh scarcely knowing what to reply, 
inquired, 


„ 166 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

“Is there any thing, my dear sir, 
which I can do to relieve your distress? 
I am here for that purpose, and would 
gladly render any assistance in my 
power.” 

“You see me on this bed a poor bruis¬ 
ed and maimed carcass, but my worst 
pains are not those of the body. I have 
been troubled with strange feelings for 
months past, when I have thought of you 
leading the life of a dog, in heat and cold, 
sunshine and storm, exposed to all weath¬ 
ers, while your wife and family—and 
such a family—were sheltered in a hov¬ 
el; and all for what? Just because you 
would stand by your belief, and could n’t 
say that white was black and black white, 
to please the great folks; for that’s what 
it amounts to, in my thinking. Well, 
says I to myself, if that’s religion, I 
haven’t got it, and there aren’t many 
that I know who have. Somehow it 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 167 

troubled me more and more, though I 
tried hard to think ’t was no business of 
mine any way; so I got out the big fam¬ 
ily Bible that I always kept laid up in a 
chest of drawers, but little comfort could 
I find in that. Now I am thrown by 
here like a useless piece of lumber, and 
I want to know of you if there ’s any 
hope for an old sinner like me ?” 

While the farmer was speaking, the 
head of the pastor was bowed in devout 
thanksgiving to God; and in answer to 
the closing inquiry, he told him of the 
sufferings and death of Christ, of the way 
of salvation through faith in his name, 
and the necessity of repentance and re¬ 
generation by the power of the Holy 
Spirit; to all which the sick man listened 
as for his life. Tears of penitence were 
in his eyes all unused to weeping, and a 
newly awakened soul, which had slept 
for many years, was looking through 


168 ILVEETON EECTOEY. 

those windows with terror, anxiety, and 
hope blended in one expression. 

After prayer, Mr. Leigh took his leave, 
promising to return as soon as possible, 
and on his way homeward his heart was 
full of joy and gratitude. 

“Here have I been,” was his solilo¬ 
quy, “deeming myself forsaken of God, 
and thrown by as a broken vessel in 
which he had no pleasure, and lo, in the 
midst of my complaining, he has, I trust, 
given me this precious soul for my hire. 
Bless the Lord, 0 my soul, and forget 
not all his benefits.” 

For some weeks the pastor visited the 
Grange nearly every evening, and was 
always received with eager joy by the 
farmer, whose injuries, though not fatal, 
were of such a character as to render 
him an invalid for years, if not for life. 

“I am a poor helpless lamiter,” he 
once said to Mr. Leigh, “and shall never 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 169 

be of use to anybody again; but in all 
my years of health and prosperity, I 
never had one feeling of gratitude to God 
who gave me all; and now, when my 
friends look on me as an object of pity 
only, I feel like praising and thanking 
him all the time for his goodness: what 
does this mean ?” 

1 ‘ I trust it means, my friend, that 
whereas you was once blind, you now 
see; that your heart of stone has become 
a heart of flesh; and that instead of an 
enemy and an alien, you have been made 
a child of God and an heir of heaven. 
Is not this sufficient cause for gratitude 
and joy ?” 

“ One thing lies heavy on my heart,” 
said the farmer, “above all my other 
sins, though they are black enough: it is 
my most unworthy feelings of dislike 
and hostility towards you, dear sir, and 
your brethren, the excellent of the earth 


170 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

as I now know them to be, who would 
not perjure themselves, and were cast 
out from theft homes in consequence. It 
was only because their conduct con¬ 
demned me, who cared nothing for my 
soul, and to save my property would 
have sworn allegiance to the Pope him¬ 
self. I want humbly to ask your par¬ 
don, and through you that of your breth¬ 
ren, for my wickedness. I trust God, 
for Christ’s sake, has forgiven me; but I 
must have your forgiveness too.” 

The change in farmer Goodwin was so 
great that his family saw it with aston¬ 
ishment and distrust. At first they fear¬ 
ed that his mind was diseased; and when, 
on his first leaving his room, the house 
and farm servants were called together, 
and the farmer taking his neglected Bi¬ 
ble, told them what God had done for 
his soul, and announced his purpose of 
attending family worship morning and 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD, ltl 

evening, his wife and daughter felt cer¬ 
tain that the injuries he had received 
were affecting his brain, and mourned 
over him accordingly. But when they 
saw him uniformly kind and cheerful 
amid all his sufferings, bearing patiently 
trials of temper that would formerly have 
called forth a whirlwind of indignation, 
they were obliged to confess that he was 
changed greatly for the better, whatever 
the cause might be. 

In the warmth of his feelings, the kind 
farmer would gladly have taken Mr. 
Leigh and his family home to the Grange; 
and when this offer was firmly though 
gratefully refused, he besought the pas¬ 
tor to resign his present servile employ¬ 
ment, and take the situation of bailiff at 
the farm, which, in the disabled condition 
of the master, would become an office of 
responsibility and profit. But this offer 
also was declined with many thanks, 


m ILVERTON RECTORY. 

since there were not wanting those who 
would have accursed the pastor of seek¬ 
ing his own emolument in making a con¬ 
vert of the wealthy farmer, if his condi¬ 
tion were to be improved by the change. 
But many a liberal gift, secretly bestow¬ 
ed, testified the enduring gratitude of Mr. 
Goodwin, while it gave timely assistance 
to a worthy and suffering family. 

During the year spent by Annie at 
Bromley, Clarence Brent had visited the 
cottage but once, having left the country 
soon after her departure, for Germany, 
where the year was spent by him in 
study under the supervision of Mr. Wat- 
son, his tutor and friend. No word had 
passed between Lady Brent and her son 
since the conversation we have recorded, 
on the subject then brought forward, but 
each felt that the purpose of the other 
was unchanged, and by mutual consent 
it was carefully avoided. 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. H3 

Sir Richard and his wife spent a part 
of the summer on the Continent with 
their son, and the remainder at London 
and Eversden, only returning to Win¬ 
ston in time for the Christmas festivities, 
which were to be gaily kept by a large 
party of guests in honor of the return of 
the young heir. But before the day ar¬ 
rived, Clarence had signified his inten¬ 
tion of remaining at Gottingen through 
another winter, and his mother was suf¬ 
fering from the rapid development of a 
fatal disease; so the invitations were re¬ 
called, and silence and gloom reigned at 
the Park, instead of the anticipated gay- 
ety and splendor. The most eminent 
physicians from London were summoned 
to attend her; and after repeated consul¬ 
tations her ladyship was informed that 
in order to preserve, or even to prolong 
her life, a painful and dangerous opera¬ 
tion was necessary. From such an oper- 


174 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

ation they hoped and expected the most 
favorable results, though they frankly 
informed her that it might prove almost 
instantly fatal. 

It was a fearful alternative for the 
proud and worldly woman, who had nev¬ 
er thought of death in connection with 
herself, and whose plans for the future 
were all arranged without reference to 
the possibility of failure. She hesitated 
for a few moments only, and then said to 
her physician, 

“Obtain the very best surgical aid 
from London without regard to expense, 
and then do for me all you can. I will 
take the chance. 77 

It was the wish of Sir Richard to send 
for their son before the day of trial; but 
to this the mother refused her consent. 
“I will not become an object of dread 
and terror to my son/ 7 she said, in an¬ 
swer to the entreaties of her husband: “if 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. U5 

I get through it happily, there will be 
time enough for rejoicing; if not, he will 
be spared some pain: in either case he is 
better away.” 

The day at length arrived; the opera¬ 
tion was performed with skill, and it was 
at first hoped, with success; but after a 
few hours symptoms of a fatal character 
made their appearance, and the surgeons 
in attendance announced to Sir Richard 
that their worst apprehensions were about 
to be realized. The poor man was almost 
beside himself with anxiety and terror: 
he assured the family physician that it 
was impossible for him to inform Lady 
Brent of her danger, and entreated him 
to take the solemn duty upon himself, to 
which he reluctantly consented. 

It was a scene never to be forgotten by 
those who witnessed it. The horror with 
which the sufferer heard the fatal sen¬ 
tence, so sudden and unexpected, for she 


176 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

had supposed the danger over, and the 
bitterness of death passed; her frantic en¬ 
treaties for more medical aid, that at least 
she might live a little longer, and her 
agony when told that all was in vain, 
made the scene so terrible that few could 
remain in the apartment. 

When from mere exhaustion she had 
become more calm, she entreated that a 
clergyman might be instantly summoned 
to attend her. A messenger was sent in 
haste for the incumbent of the parish, who 
returned with the intelligence that his 
reverence was out with the hounds on a 
hunt; and the curate, to whom he was 
next sent, had accompanied his patron. 

‘ ‘ Is there then no one to pray with me ?” 
exclaimed the dying woman in accents of 
despair; “must I depart without one cry 
for mercy?’ 7 

“May it please your honor,” said an 
old serving man to Sir Richard, who knew 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 177 

not wliat to do, “I have heard John Locke 
the tinker say, that on your honor’s es¬ 
tate at Boughton, there is a shepherd 
who prays better than even his rever¬ 
ence himself.” 

“Let him be instantly summoned,” 
was the brief reply; and a man and horse 
were speedily on their way to the dwell¬ 
ing of Mr. Leigh, who lost no time in 
obeying the summons. He was ushered 
into the gorgeous apartment in which the 
mistress of the mansion lay dying, clad 
in his usual coarse garb, and kneeling by 
the bedside offered up a prayer so appli¬ 
cable to the circumstances of the case, 
so full of pathos and devotion, that the 
silence of death reigned throughout the 
room, and all present were overpowered 
with emotion. It was a frail mortal 
wrestling by faith with the King of kings, 
pleading for the life of an immortal soul 
with a fervor that could not be denied. 

Uverton Rectory. 12 


178 ILVERT0N RECTORY. 

Even the groans of the dying woman 
were hushed, and as he rose from his 
knees, she said to him faintly, 

“I thank you, whoever you are, for you 
mean kindly, but it is too late. I cannot, 
in the brief space allowed me, unlearn 
the belief and feelings of a whole life; 
but you are evidently sincere, and if we 
had met earlier, all might now have been 
different with me.” 

Her voice failed; and as the attendant 
came to the bedside with a stimulant, Mr. 
Leigh left the room with Sir Eichard, 
who, on reaching another apartment, thus 
addressed him: 

“Shepherd, I am well assured from 
your language and appearance, that you 
are far other than you seem. Tell me, 
who and what are you?” 

“I am a poor man,” was the meek re¬ 
ply, “employed on your honor’s estate 
at Boughton, in tending sheep.” 


SILVER, LINING OF THE CLOUD. 119 

‘‘ Tending sheep! a man who looks and 
speaks as you do, keeping sheep for me! 
What was your former occupation? for 
well I am assured you have not always 
been in the one of which you speak. Tell 
me what you were formerly.” 

A bright glow flitted across the bronz¬ 
ed cheek of the good man, but the emo¬ 
tion of pride was soon conquered, and he 
answered calmly, 

“For more than twenty years I was an 
under-shepherd of the Lord Jesus Christ, 
and employed in feeding the flock which 
he purchased with his blood.” 

“And your name?” 

“Is Samuel Leigh.” 

“What, the ejected minister of Ilver- 
ton? I have heard of you, Mr. Leigh, 
through my son, and ought at once to 
have known you through the description 
he has given. I little thought the man 
so revered by him as well as others, was 


180 ILVEKTON KECTORY. 

a common laborer on my estate. This 
must no longer be. I cannot, under pres¬ 
ent circumstances, attend to the matter, 
but you shall hear from me very soon, 
and I trust we shall be able to arrange 
things satisfactorily to all parties.” 

Clarence Brent was summoned home 
to attend the funeral of his mother; and 
after all was over, he accompanied his 
father to the cottage, and enjoyed his 
surprise,on meeting Mrs.Leigh and Rose, 
to find such beings in a situation so hum¬ 
ble. 

“This is all wrong, my good sir,” said 
the baronet; “your family have no busi¬ 
ness in this hut, where they are as 
strangely out of place as you are in the 
situation of shepherd. Henceforth you 
shall be employed as my chaplain, with 
a salary adequate to your support; and 
we will contrive to gather a flock for you, 
better suited to your character and at- 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 181 

tainments than the one you are now 
tending. Make ready at once to quit 
your present employment, and assume 
again the one you have heretofore so 
worthily filled.* 7 

Did not the persecuted Non-conformist 
feel, as his guests left him, the truth of 
the Saviour’s words, “ Whosoever shall 
lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, 
the same shall save it?” 

In a few days a neat and pleasant cot¬ 
tage near the Park was put in order by 
Sir Richard and his son, who was a de¬ 
lighted assistant in the plans of his father; 
and the family of the rector having re¬ 
moved to it, the father lost no time in 
bringing back his absent daughter to 
share the common joy. 

It seemed like a dream to the happy 
girl when, on reaching Winston, she drove 
past the Lodge and through a side ave¬ 
nue of stately trees, and was received by 


182 ILVEET0N EECTOEY. 

her mother and sister in their own pleas¬ 
ant home, while many well-remembered 
articles of furniture, and above all the 
old harpsichord,. occupied their accus¬ 
tomed places in the tasteful apartment. 

“You have not yet seen all, dear sis¬ 
ter,” said Rose, as she drew her out into 
the little porch, where stood one whom 
she hardly thought ever to meet again 
on earth. The manner of Clarence was 
tender and respectful, and well calculat¬ 
ed to reassure the trembling girl, whose 
face, spite of her efforts to conceal it, was 
radiant with delight at this unexpected 
meeting. 

“I am waiting, my own dear Annie,” 
he found means to say before leaving, 
“ with what patience I can command, for 
the time when I can claim you for my 
own in the face of the world; but I will 
not risk the happiness of the present mo¬ 
ment by offending the prejudices of my 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 183 

father. When he comes to know you, I 
am certain he will be glad and proud to 
call you daughter.” 

The prophecy was speedily fulfilled. 
Sir Richard was a frequent guest at the 
cottage, and as he saw from day to day 
the unpretending loveliness of the maid¬ 
en, her filial tenderness and care, with all 
that nameless charm of voice and man¬ 
ner which surrounded her like a garment, 
his admiration knew no bounds. It was 
a new revelation of feminine character 
which he saw at the home of his chap¬ 
lain, and in proportion to its novelty was 
its influence on the proud but kind-heart¬ 
ed baronet. 

“Clarence,” he said one day to his son, 
“I shall begin to think you are as blind 
as a mole in regard to your own interest, 
if you can associate with such a girl as 
the parson’s daughter without losing your 
heart and trying to win hers in return. 


184 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

If the young person of whom your poor 
mother stood in such mortal dread, was 
half as good and beautiful as Annie Leigh, 
I should not blame you for remaining true 
to her, were she as poor as Lazarus.” 

“My father,” replied the young man 
with a smile, “your advice is excellent, 
but it comes a little too late. Has it 
never occurred to you that the fair un¬ 
known to whom my faith is pledged and 
your favorite Annie might be the same?” 

“Zounds, boy, what an idiot I have 
been not to see this before. I might have 
known you had too much sense to let such 
a prize slip through your fingers; but why 
have I been kept in ignorance so long ?” 

“My father, I feared your prejudices 
in favor of birth and rank, and have 
waited, well aware that nothing I could 
say would reconcile my mother to my 
alliance with the portionless daughter of 
an ejected minister.” 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 1.85 

“ And you were right, boy; we should 
both have been against you and your 
dear Annie ; but I have learned some 
profitable lessons lately, thanks to my 
good friends at the cottage, and now 
you are at full liberty to make yourself 
happy in your own way.” 

Clarence thanked his father with all 
the eloquence of love and joy, and hast¬ 
ened to impart the good news to Annie 
and her parents, whose consent could no 
longer be withheld, since that of Sir Rich¬ 
ard had been so freely given. 

A message from court summoned the 
baronet to London during the summer, 
but as he was confined to the house by 
gout, his son went in his stead, and was 
detained by the king for several months, 
making only flying visits to the Park. 
The folly, extravagance, and profligacy 
of the court completed the work of con¬ 
viction commenced by the influence of 


186 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

Annie and the teachings of Mr. Watson; 
and Clarence adopted, with all the ear¬ 
nestness of his nature, the doctrines of 
civil and religions liberty advocated by 
the Non-conformists. His heart indeed 
was still unchanged, but his wealth and 
influence were freely given for the pro¬ 
motion of the rights of conscience; and as 
the zeal of the party in power had been in 
some degree satiated by the number of its 
victims, he was enabled to save many an 
ejected minister from utter destitution by 
his bounty, and to bring back hope and 
comfort to many a darkened household. 

The time came at last when he .could 
with honor bid adieu to a court with 
which he had become thoroughly dis¬ 
gusted, and hasten to the home where 
love and happiness awaited him. 

The festivities of Christmas were cele¬ 
brated in the princely halls of Winston 
on a scale of magnificence befitting the 


SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 18? 

occasion; for at that time a young and 
lovely bride was brought home to his 
ancestral halls by its happy heir, who 
during his experience of life in the me¬ 
tropolis had only learned more fully to 
appreciate the excellence of his long 
loved Annie. 

In the gilded saloons and tapestried 
chambers of her new abode, the youthful 
lady of Winston was like a ray of sun¬ 
shine gladdening all it touched; and when 
called on various occasions to mingle 
with the proud baronage of England, not 
one among the high-born beauties who 
graced the court of the second Charles 
excelled Mistress Annie Brent in loveli¬ 
ness of person, or in those rarer endow¬ 
ments of mind and manner which won 
all hearts to their unconscious possessor. 

But the happiest moments of her life 
were spent at the cottage, the pleasant 
residence of her father and his family, 


188 ILVERTON RECTORY. 

where, surrounded by all she loved, the 
young wife would seat herself at her fa¬ 
ther’s feet, with his hand resting fondly 
on her sunny ringlets, and listen to his 
grateful review of the checkered past, 
while every member of the endeared cir¬ 
cle fervently responded to his closing 
exclamation: 

“Not one good thing in our experi¬ 
ence hath failed of all that the Lord hath 
spoken concerning the sufferers for con¬ 
science’ sake. The trials of our life have 
passed away as a tale that is told; our 
lot is cast in pleasant places, and we have 
a goodly heritage. But let us not forget 
in prosperity the message borne to our 
souls by affliction, or lose amid the sweet¬ 
est melodies of earth the whisper of the 
still small voice that once said to us in 
the roaring of the tempest, ‘Arise ye, 
and depart; for this is not your Test.’” 


F®^ tlt@ 


LIFE ILLUSTRATED. 

MAY COVERLEY. 

The trials and success of a young dressmaker. 224 pp. 
18mo. 

ABEL GREY. 

A young musician rising from poverty to distinction. 
212 pp. 18mo. 

HANNAH LEE. 

Severe trials and reward of a faithful domestic. 208 pp. 
18mo. 


DOWN IN A MINE. 

The miner’s mode of life, his dangers, and his security. 
208 pp. 18mo. 

THE LITTLE SEA-BIRD. 

A child rescued from a wreck, trained for God, and re¬ 
stored to her parents. 192 pp. 18mo. 

KATIE SEYMOUR. 

Youthful piety illustrated in doing good. 152 pp. 18mo. 

MY BROTHER BEN. 

The struggles and victories of a fatherless family. 142 
pp. 18mo. 

HARRY THE WHALER. 

His voyage to the northern regions. 138 pp. 18mo. 

HARRY THE SAILOR-BOY. 

By the same, author as the above. A story for boys. 
119 pp. 18mo. 

THE NAUGHTY GIRL WON, 

By the power of Christian love. 135 pp. 18mo. 

MARCIA AND ELLEN. 

An example of filial affection and patient industry. 126 
pp. 18mo. 


l 



THE GOLD BRACELET. 

The rewards of honesty. 122 pp. 18mo«. 

THE ROCKET. 

The story of the self-made George Stephenson of Eng¬ 
land. 118 pp. 18mo. ♦ 

MACKEREL WILL. 

The reclaimed children. 116 pp. 18mo. 

AMY’S NEW HOME. 

Trust in God our safety in trials. 112 pp. 18mo. 

TRAMPS IN NEW YORK. 

Lively and instructive sketches of institutions and scenes 
in a great city. 104 pp. 18mo. 

STEPS UP THE LADDER, 

Or the Will and the Way. 103 pp. 18mo. 

THE FLOWER-BOY OF THE PRAIRIE. 

Benny of the West rising from poverty to be a success¬ 
ful merchant. 102 pp. 18mo. 

GRACE ABBOTT, 

Or the Sunday Tea-party. 95 pp. 18mo. 

THE YOUNG HOP-PICKERS. 

Successful Christian effort for the neglected. 85 pp. 
18mo. 

The above, with about three hundred other volumes of 
great value and attraction for children, 

ARE ISSUED BY THE 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY* 

150 Nassau-strect, NEW YORK; 40 Cornliill, BOS¬ 
TON ; 1310 Chestnut-st., PHILADELPHIA; 75 Stale¬ 
st., ROCHESTER; 1G3 Walnat-st., CINCINNATI; 
170 Clark-st., CHIGAGO; 9 Sontli-Fiftli-st., ST. 

LOUIS; 73 West-Fayette-lst., BALTIMORE, and by 
Booksellers in tlic principal Cities and Towns. 

a 






/ 






































% 

























% 














4 








4 














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































